


I've Missed You For 29 Years

by SleepDepraved



Series: THE SLIDER [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF!Stiles, Experimental Style, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Nice Peter Hale, Older Stiles Stilinski, Parallel Universes, Post-Canon (Season 4), Returning Home, Sappy Ending, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6407212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDepraved/pseuds/SleepDepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was 18 when he was sucked into a parallel universe.</p><p>He is 29 when he makes it back home.</p><p>--<br/>(Fic 1 of THE SLIDER)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles 29 / Derek 26

**Author's Note:**

> **THE SLIDER 1: _I've Missed You For 29 Years_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek switching POV

Stiles sure hopes this is the right one. It feels right. Looks right even. But after all this time who the hell knows anymore. Welp he knows the drill—First, check the nemeton. He turns around to do exactly that when he sees Derek just standing to the side, eyes wide, looking at him.

That’s just great. He usually liked a few days to himself to suss out the place before he went introducing himself to the pack. No stopping how he guesses as he raises one eyebrow and stares back unflinching. He's not going to the first one to speak if he can help it.

Derek is shell-shocked. Here stood a man, vaguely taller and older, but distinctly Stiles-shaped, if Stiles were covered in thick wool coats and layers of winter wear.

“St-tiles?”

It’s the most broken voice Stiles has heard in a long while. Wonder what happened to the Stiles here. Derek, huh? He looks good. Whole, not missing any limbs. How old is this Derek? Mid to late twenties probably, but he could never tell with the guy, unfair Hale genes and all that. The guy could be anywhere from a hot 20 year old, to a hot 30 year old, just with undulations in facial hair.

Derek takes in the image of Stiles before him. When Stiles got pulled into that portal more than a year ago, he was only a boy of 18. This Stiles was a grown man—probably at least 10 years older, or maybe that’s just his ragged appearance and scruff. Derek takes a deeper breath, fills his lungs with this person. He’d remember Stiles’ scent anywhere. This was definitely him, probably.

The man who is definitely probably Stiles says nothing. 

“Stiles?” Derek tries again.

Stiles should probably say something. Yeah, it’s me. You look good Derek. But what he says instead is, “What year is this?” Really? That’s what we went with. Thanks for nothing brain.

“It’s 2017,” Derek takes a breath. “and you’ve been gone for 1 year, 2 months and 12 days.”

Stiles heart drops. It’s gonna be one of those worlds.

“Actually, I’ve been gone for much longer. I haven’t exactly been keeping track of the years and months anymore. Stopped doing that after... Look it’s been a while for me and I’m not sure how long, but I’m 29… years old, that is.” Stiles felt more like 50 sometimes.

Derek’s eyes go wide. 29? _Twenty?_ _**NINE!**_

That accounts for the way this man, who is definitely probably Stiles, looks. He’s clearly a man, not a boy. Not with the way his shoulders have filled out, jaw squared. The Stiles he knew couldn’t grow a beard, save for a few wispy stray hairs—whereas now, there’s a patchy beard. Not the most full. Scruffy would be a good description. But it's oddly nice. And there are scars. He can see them when he looks carefully at the man’s face, even the one that… okay this _had_ to be his Stiles if he has the same faint knife scar under his earlobe. Right? He looks good, handsome. The age is all wrong, but Derek thinks he understands.

“You were eighteen when you... err... left. You’d be nineteen now.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide.

“I didn’t _leave_. I fell into a portal very much against my wishes. But yeah- I mean yes, I was eighteen when it…” Stiles’ heart is beating rapidly, like it might burst out of his chest. Those kinds of thing can happen right? Okay remember to breathe. If you're going to freak out, remember to keep breathing. Air is needed for life. “I mean I could have come back a few… lost some time in the… after I left—“ There was hope bubbling from somewhere in Stiles. A hope bubbles up, long chipped-away after repeated failures, now strong and vibrant once again. After so many worlds that weren’t his, could this be it? “Fuck—so it could be. I mean sliding could screw up the whole timeline.” Maybe he's been travelling for more than decade, universe to universe, and only a year has passed here. That sounds vaguely possible. Derek said _gone_. He didn’t say _dead_. He has to know.

“Derek. What was the last thing you remember about me?”

Derek takes a few forwards and, when Stiles doesn’t spook, he takes a few more then stops. “I wasn’t here when it happened but I’ve heard some things.” Derek was in Peru at the time, travelling with Cora and some of the Morales pack. “You were casting a spell on the nemeton.” Stiles eyes are now critically large, like he’s trying to see into Derek’s skull. “You guys were trying to fix it for good.” Derek continues. “But something went wrong and you opened a portal. By the time they knew it was going wrong and Lydia closed it, you w—“

 _That’s it!_ “THAT’S IT! That’s exactly what happened to me.” Stiles is on the verge of screaming. “Lydia and I were attempting a seven-sided portal locking spell on the fucking tree when instead of locking the portal, WE FUCKED IT UP! Next thing I know, I’m in ANOTHER FUCKING DIMENSION!” Stiles takes a deep breath, or tries to. The sharp intake of air turns to gulping. He stops himself from choking, just barely. “I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just that I’ve been to so many worlds before this. A part of me doesn’t believe I’m in the right one. They were… some of them seemed right enough but nope. None of them felt this right.”

Derek felt exactly like Stiles looked. Like he could barely breathe. He’d missed this. The boy talking without taking breaths. The infectious energy. That scent. He didn’t even notice taking those final steps when he’s sticking his nose into the man’s neck. He can feel it just beneath the skin, there near the pulse point… beating in sync through The Ether—the pack bond. Faint, but very much there. There’s also an acrid smell of grief and conflict. Derek moves in quickly to comfort the other man through what he knows is coming.

“Oh m- g-d...” Stiles stutters, barely holding in his emotions. He’s not sure if it’s happiness or sadness. At this heightened a state, both are indistinguishable. It’s relief with a tinge of lingering doubt. It won’t hold. Stiles lets it out—the tears. He feels his heart in his ears. He can’t hold it in. So he just let’s himself be held.

Stiles is home.


	2. Jerry O'Connell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek switching POV.
> 
> Minor drug reference in this chapter, but not enough that I feel like adding a tag to the entire work.

Someone has pulled off all his layers of coats.

It’s probably for the best. He was burning up inside his cocoon of season-inappropriate wear. But it pays to be prepared after he almost froze a nut off in one of those alternate universes. Derek is still holding him and it’s nice. He would stay like this all day but he shouldn’t. How long as he been hugging Derek anyway? He calms himself down and pushes out of the grip.

“Thanks. It’s really good to see you Derek. I give that hug 5 stars. Would hug again.”

Fucking smart ass. God Derek’s missed Stiles so much. He doesn’t want to lose this moment, but he understands that Stiles probably has others who need to know he’s back. Safe. Oh god. Without the layers, he can see that Stiles isn't just taller, he's put on lean muscle, with a bit of chest hair sticking out from under the collar. And that scent is just clinging to him now. He wants to rub his face in it, burrow under Stiles’ arm and just wag his tail furiously. Was it always like this? “We should let your dad know you’re back. And the others.”

Stiles goes still. “In a bit.”

The truth is Stiles doesn’t know if he’s willing to get his hopes up. As much as this world feels right, not like the others, he just doesn’t know yet. A moment ago, he was so sure it was, but having calmed a little and the head-rush of the slide settled down, he isn’t so sure. It could just be its thing—the feels-just-like-it-should-but-isn’t world. He would like just a bit of time to explore, to poke at its seams, to be goddamn sure before it all potentially goes to shit again. “Let me rest for a bit. Please. Sliding takes it out of me.” Stiles looks around. His layers of warmth are strewed about on the ground. And there seems to be other stuff that aren’t his. A few empty plastic bottles. Some food wrappers. Bits of scrap and junk, like someone’s been camping here.

“Sliding?”

“Oh that’s what I call jumping from world to world. Well, parallel universes really. It’s like that 90s TV show Sliders, so I call it sliding. You came up with it, actually… well not you you, but another version of you. I’ve never actually seen Sliders.”

“I came up with it?”

“Seems unlikely, I know. What with you being as oblivious to pop-culture as you are, I mean, are you still like that? It’s only be a year or so for you so I guess you wouldn’t have changed all that much.”

“You still talk too much.” Derek retorts back without malice. If he's honest, he enjoys this bit, just falling back into old habits with Stiles.

“I’m still awesome. Anyway, I used to call it portalling, but I’ve picked up some extra vernacular from all the different mes and yous and others. Sliding is way nicer. And Jerry O’Connell had great hair. I saw a clip.” Stiles eyes go wide suddenly. “Hey! Guess what else; I’m older than you!”

Derek make a mental note to be calm. He’s totally calm. Yup. Totally. “I can believe that. Must be, if you're comparing yourself to 90s TV star Jerry O’Connell.” Derek smiles slightly, then tries to remember the last time he’s smiled. Not for a while.

“Yep. Jerry O’Connell. That’s me. You, that other you, tried to get me to watch it together but I thought it was too morbid. It's not entertainment if you're living it, you know. Also that you was way older. Maybe 40-something. I can’t tell with you sometimes. Oh wait hey, Rick & Morty! That's a show like my life, except I'm not meeting aliens. Have you seen any of that?”

Derek shakes his head. Liam mentioned it, but like Stiles said, it just seemed too morbid. And he doesn’t want to think too hard about some 40-something version of him watching TV together with Stiles. It’s so… _something_. “How long were you in that world?” Derek wants to ask a lot more. Where have you been? How did you get back? How many times did you slide? He doesn’t for now.

“Too long. Everyone there, the entire pack, was really nice in that world. Too nice. I realised a few months in that they weren’t really making the effort to help me get home. They’d tried a few things, failed, and just figured that it would be cool to have a spare Stiles in the pack, and stopped trying.” Stiles remember not even being able to be angry at them. They were just so nice about it. “When I realised, I just found someone else to get me out of there.”

Derek just nods again. He’s just about to ask another question when Stiles continues.

“I’ve been to 10 different worlds. Such a perfect number, huh—10. Unless you take this world into account then it’s 11 in total.”

Derek doesn’t know what he expected, but 10? Is that why he's older? But It's only been a year and a bit.

Stiles just continues talking, not giving Derek any time to process what he's saying. “Eleven. You know some scientists believe in the 11-dimension supergravity theory? Maybe they’re on to something. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Fuck if I know. Lydia… Lydia-11, 10? Fuck I gotta get these numbers right. She told me that. She said that last slide was the most promising one because of the 11 whatevers, but she could have just been trying to make me feel better.” Actually, Stiles remembers her being rather annoyed that she there was hardly any chance to get confirmation, one way or the other, if it had worked. She did make him promise to try to find some way to let her know, but fuck if he knew how. And double fuck if he would actually do that. More messing around with parallel travel? As if. Not unless he absolutely has to. Stiles shakes his head. “Lydia-11 was the most Lydia of any Lydia I’ve ever seen Lydia. Seriously. Like I'm not sure how, but she out-Lydias all of them.” At 42-years of age, she was older, shaper, and even more on the career warpath despite her many accolades. He would let _his_ Lydia know though. Lydia-1, first of all the Lydias. Or maybe Lydia-0, like patient zero. Nah that's dumb. She's not the seed for all others, so Lydia-1 it is. “Anyway, I’ll let Lydia figure this whole mess out. God, I’m gonna negotiate a greater split for the Nobel Prize money if that theory is proven. 60-40. Hell 70-30!” Stiles did do all the leg work after all, so to speak. “Every world is only ever-so-slightly different from each other. Nothing too drastically different, just shades of the same world. Lydia-6, that’s the Lydia from World 6, theorised that it could be that the closest parallel worlds would be more similar, but Lydia-11 said that there could be infinite clusters of 11 worlds and that our cluster could have similarities due to… fuck what did she say? Anyway, I don’t think the 11-dimension theory assumption—"

Derek just let Stiles’ voice wash over him. He just want to bathe in Stiles’ voice, scent, everything. His wolf is just screaming out to touch, hug, comfort. He’s nods where appropriate. For all that everyone assumes he is just pretty and dumb, he was a proper matriculated post-grad student at NYU. And sure, studying History doesn’t cover quantum physics or theoretical science, but he had friends. Hipster friends. Rambling about the Large Hadron Collider and mini blackholes under Switzerland, whilst tripping balls on LSD. Derek only pretended to partake. Who knows if werewolves can have an acid trip but he wasn’t going to risk finding out. Bad enough having to explain to Laura why her vinyl collection was covered in shampoo and corn flour, imagine having to do it while whacked out his fucking mind. No thanks stupid existential hipster friends. God, those were dark days.


	3. Unofficially, I've Been Lost Without You

“…so yeah, maybe she was onto something.” Stiles goes quiet for a while and Derek picks the bitter scent of doubt and resentment. “I’m gonna be honest here. After 10 fails, I’m not a hundred on the fact this is actually _my_ world. For one, I expected you to be older.”

Derek can understand that wariness. Fuck he’s been wary about most things for most of your life. But he couldn't lose Stiles again. He wouldn't. “You were relieved earlier,” he counters. _Please fucking stay._

Stiles nods. “Yeah. It’s you. You were here waiting for me here like you were expecting me. You didn’t say anything about another Stiles, or a dead Stiles. And the whole…” Stiles flicks a hand in a circle. “This. The nemeton and portal, just the general aura of this world. It feels like I belong.” It _does_ feel right. His magic, his pack bonds. It's not that he doesn't want it to be right. It's hard to believe is all.

Derek doesn't share Stiles' suspicions. “You belong here. And I’ve been coming by every day for a while. When you first disappeared. They looked for you—” Derek’s voice breaks a little. “We tried everything.” They fell apart is what happened, but he doesn’t say that. “When we realized what happened, we…” he doesn’t know how to continue.

They mourned in different ways. 

\--

Derek came back to Beacon Hills. Back to the town that had broken his heart, again.

Cora got a call from Deaton, but Derek had already felt it by then. The most precious pack bond he had besides Cora, broken. She had to physically hold him, anchor him, or he would have lost it. She was so relieved when Deaton called, hoping to get help with whatever was happening to Derek. But the news was no relief, only heartache. Confirmation of what Derek could feel: Stiles was gone. His control was so frayed and thin that they couldn’t fly commercial, so it took them ages to get to Beacon Hills even after they dropped everything so abruptly. He got the gist of it from Deaton. Vaguely heard that Lydia was trying to fix... whatever. Derek needed to help, and Cora wanted to help.

When research was proving to be hopeless, Derek took a camping chair, and parked himself next to the Nemeton. They reversed the portal again, hoping to let Stiles back out from wherever. It didn't work, and instead brought all manner of interlopers through the portals. Derek decided that his mere presence near the tree would ward off those who might want to corrupt it. And just in case Stiles did come back... It’s been working for a few months at least. And even if everybody knew that he was waiting and praying for Stiles to return, well that didn’t matter. The others have been to visit him, even keep watch a few days with him. No one brought up Stiles around him. They didn’t know how. Cora went back to South America, and he doesn’t hold it against her. He suspects that she’s been seeing Alpha Morales’ youngest son Diego, so these months away have been hard on her in other ways.

\--

The sheriff started overworking himself as a distraction. He cried sometimes, or sat in his house doing nothing but hit the bottle. Derek watches him from the treeline occasionally, like he’s honouring Stiles in some way. He leaves food on the porch of the Stilinksi house. An offering, an apology. For getting John’s only remaining family sucked into this whole shitshow. For not being able to protect the Sheriff’s only child. Stiles would say that it wasn't his fault. Stiles would have been mistaken. When the drinking got really bad, Derek sneaked into the sheriff's house and emptied out all the bottles. John stopped drinking, at least at home. Derek didn't know what else to do.

\--

In lieu of alcohol, Scott had his own addictions.

What do you do when you lose your brother? Sex apparently. Scott threw himself it. He cheated on Kira. He went out often, fucked anything that moved. Even Liam. You know that guy in the club sweating and dancing for hours straight. That guy who’s ‘friends’ with all the DJs. That guy who buys shots to give away just so they won’t kick him out for not purchasing drinks. That legend. That is Scott McCall sans Stiles. A party animal. Stiles would love the pun. It wasn't that Scott became a bad alpha. Oh no, he still manages to be a good when he needs to be. One moment he’s on the phone comforting Isaac, the next moment he’s weeping and Isaac is the one that needs to console him.

\--

Isaac visited 3 times.

The first time to help with research. The second time to spend time with the pack, Scott, and to say a proper goodbye. He alternated sitting in Stiles’ bedroom or Erica and Boyd’s gravestones for hours at a time. Derek didn’t even know if Stiles and Isaac were that close, but they might have been, or maybe it was just the reminder of losing more pack. And the most recent visit a month ago, Isaac kept Derek company next to the Nemeton for five days. They didn’t talk much but it was good for both of them just to be in each other’s presence. Derek learns about how Jackson is doing since Isaac has kept in touch with him. Isaac caught Derek begging the wind one night when he was nodding off, but they had a silent agreement so it was never brought up.

\--

Peter and Malia started spending time together as daughter and father. They fought a lot at first. Peter in full wolf form was unbearably short-tempered. Derek doesn't even know if it's grief, or disappointment with the pack. He didn't even know if Peter liked Stiles. Then again, he never cared to admit his own feelings for Stiles, so maybe that's how it goes.

Malia as a coyote was jittery with her own sadness at losing her first friend, first boyfriend. She must have known instinctively that Stiles was worth her emotions. She could barely contain how much.

So, in their animalia forms, they snapped at each other viciously, albeit holding back from killing each other. Derek guess that alone was proof to each other that they cared enough to be a dysfunctional family, in their own crazy fucked up way.

\--

Liam had to watch his alpha fall apart. After everything the pack had been through, he thought Scott was unshakeable. He was wrong. Even so, he couldn’t spend much time helping with research. His grades were sliding with all the supernatural business going on in town. When Scott propositioned him during one of the full-moon runs, he eagerly let the alpha fill him up. Derek didn't have time for that kind of pack drama so he just stayed the hell away. Scott was fucking to forget, and wanted to forget constantly. Liam just happened to be the nearby and an eternally horny teenager. Things are a bit awkward between them, but they get by.

\--

Kira left for college the first chance she got.

Derek was surprised at how surprisingly calm Kira stayed throughout the whole breakdown of her love-life. As Scott grew distant and their relationship eventually dissolved when her boyfriend started sleeping like a horny terrier, Kira threw herself into helping Lydia with research. He respects her for refusing to be the scorned lover, refusing to be a victim of the crazy mess. She simply broke up with Scott, and carried on researching. Maybe that was her coping mechanism. Still, kitsune have a tendency towards revenge and, scorned or not, her parents didn’t want her to stick around to see if her lightning would go crazy if she snapped. At their insistence, she applied and won a scholarship from a private endowment for Asian Americans to go to Princeton, and you just don’t turn that kind of thing down. Derek found the timing way too convenient, but he wasn't going to begrudge a parent's right to protect their child from insanity.

\--

And Lydia.

Lydia dropped all her plans for MIT. Dropped any plans for college at all. She blamed herself, so spent the last year trying to find a way to bring Stiles back. In that time, she’s opened and closed more than a dozen portals, consulted with many experts from magic, physics, psychics, anything that might help. Everytime she broke down, she built herself back up each time, stronger. After a while, when the options started to dwindle, she barely spoke to anyone except to get their input or help for finding Stiles. If you didn't have anything to contribute, and it wasn't an emergency, she had no time for you.

\--

"It wasn't her fault. Nor was it yours." Stiles stared into Derek's eyes.

Derek shook off the memories. Cleared his head. Stiles was back now. He could fall apart later. “Officially, you’ve been away on a gap year in Australia.”

Unofficially, we’ve been lost without you.

Stiles nods. “Why Australia? I mean it’s kinda true. I've been, sorta travelling haven't I, although mostly I’ve been in versions of Beacon Hills and California. I could say that I've been surfing a lot, eating barbeque, feeding my growth spurt. Yeah, I can work with 'Australia'. I know for a fact that once I shave, I won’t look older than 20."

"Don't shave," Derek says abruptly. Oh god how likes the beard.

"Hmm." Stiles smirks. "Well fine. It'll make it easier for me to get into bars anyway. I mean now that I'm officially 19 again. How awesome is that.”

Derek can't answer that. He can't speak at all because Stiles had taken his hand.

"C'mon big guy. Let's go... somewhere. House?"

Derek feels warm all over, heat radiating from where his hand meets Stiles'. He feels like he's buzzing out of his skin. Stiles seemingly unconcerned just drags him in a direction.


	4. Of Soulmates & Alternate Outcomes

“We should go see my Dad first.”

Dad. Stiles misses him more than ever. He’s met his dad in other universes, and it’s only made him miss his real dad even more. Especially after seeing that world where his alter-ego was bitten by Peter, then killed by hunters, aged 16. Fucking hunters. It almost destroyed him to leave his father alone in that world. The sheriff begged to come along, but eventually agreed to stay behind to protect Scott. His best friend had recently lost his mother when Melissa was sacrificed by Julia Baccari. His father was Scott’s only hope. They held each other and cried just before Stiles made the slide.

Derek scented the air. Guilt. Regret. He squeezed Stiles hand a bit firmer. “I’ll call him to come to the house.” He starts wiggling out his phone from his jeans pocket.

“I see you still wear alluring yet prohibitively tight jeans. And your eyebrows are still expressive as ever. God, put them down. Your face is cute enough as it is without all that facial hair acrobatics.”

Derek is shocked into silence. Well not silence. He’s wasn’t talking. But shocked. He couldn't put his eyebrows away if he tried. “We should—the house is this way.” He finished texting then keeps his phone in one hand and starts walking briskly in the familiar path back home.

“What do you mean ‘the house’. What house? Did you rebuild the Hale mansion?” Stiles rushes ahead to catch up so he can hold the werewolf’s hand again.

Derek feels like he might be having a stroke. Even though he doesn't smell burning toast. It's still probably a stroke. From hand-holding. “Peter did it. This way.”

“Awesome. I gotta tell ya, I’ve seen some impressive Hale mansions now so I have strong opinions.”

“Oh?” Derek is curious at this. "Have you—" He doesn't really know what he's asking.

“I’ve met your family. A few times actually.” Stiles says, almost too casually, like he can just read Derek's mind.

Derek turns to stare at Stiles, who is still looking ahead. He’s met Derek’s family. He should feel the pain of his loss, but instead he feels reverence. Stiles has met his family. This man who is holding his hand like they’re and old married couple. This is a strange and new development. There’s not so much a visceral hurt there as there used to be. When did that happen?

“And I’ve also been to a world with no surviving Hales. Not one.” Stiles continues.

Ah yes. The Pain. His old friend. Derek is confused now. Why is Stiles telling him this, almost like he’s baiting him. He knows instinctively that Stiles wouldn’t hurt him without purpose, so what is he saying?

“Fuck. I mean. What I meant to say is that—“ Stiles wishes he had chosen better words. Well, not choice but to power through this now. “The circumstance and outcomes can be subtly or very different in each world. In one world, it was Laura who slept with Chris, who sold out the Hales to Gerard all so he could conceal his affair from Victoria. In another, it was Peter who slept with Kate so he could get info on the Argents and when she found out… Point is, we have each other. Fuck. That’s all I meant to say. And I met your family and they’re awesome, especially Laura. It's funny, but Cora is surly almost everywhere,” Stiles rambles.

Derek nods. After Stiles’ disappearance, presumed lost forever or dead, he realised something. His family, they were never coming back. But Stiles, well… Derek didn’t think he would come back either. But he wished, and prayed. He would pick Stiles over his family. They’ve just been gone for so long. In his mind, they’ve found peace. Even Laura. Stiles was his responsibility now. You don't get too many second chances, and he's already used up a few.

\--

“I’ve noticed certain specific similarities across all the worlds I’ve been to. Or maybe they’re only similar because they have to be for me to enter them,” Stiles says, making light conversation as they stroll.

They’re 20 minutes away at the pace they’re walking. Derek has already called sheriff to come over after his shift ends in a few hours. He didn’t tell him why. Somewhere along the way, Derek expressed interest in knowing more about the similarities and differences between the Hale mansion and Stiles has been regaling him about a whole host of similarities and differences between the worlds he’s been to.

“Like soulmates, which I never really believed in before but I’ve seen firsthand how true it can be.” It’s the truth. He’s always hoped for a soulmate, but he never believed it was likely.

Stiles keeps taking small glances at Derek as they walk. It’s a companionable stroll that Derek can’t believe that only hours ago he was keeping vigil praying for Stiles’ safe return, broken inside, ever keeping quiet watch over the nemeton. Now it’s like all the color has come back at once.

“Every time I meet a younger Scott, he seems to be in love with Allison. A bit older and he’s with Kira. Even if Allison is still alive... they’re not together anymore. And then older than that and Scott is with Isaac. Yes, Isaac. Don’t look at me like that. I know alright. I’ve met 10 Scotts—my best bro is always alive—and I’ve had a lot of time to work it all out. I drew charts! All the Scotts above 25, 26, end up with Isaac. Sometimes married with kids even.”

Derek will take that stroke now, thanks. “Soulmates?”

Stiles lets out a murmur in the affirmative. “At least I call them soulmates.” He makes air-quotes with his free hand. “And as far as I can tell from the sample size of 10 parallel worlds and our own, so 11, Scott always ends up with the same people, in the same order. I mean, he could be more after Isaac. It’s not like I’ve ever met a much older Scott than 40-something. It’s like the universe has decided that they are meant to be, in what sequence they should come in, and that is how he is shaped. Everyone seems to have a pattern of being with someone, or no one, but Scott is my main evidence of the hypothesis. His love life is just so... specific.”

Derek wants to ask if Stiles knows who his soulmate is but he doesn’t know if he wants to know. Who is he kidding, he wants to know. “And me?” It may be the bravest thing he’s ever asked and he’s on the verge of panicking.

Stiles laughs. A quiet, breathy, short laugh, with a big knowing smile. He considers his words as he says “From what I can tell, you have only 1 soulmate.” Bringing a finger up to illustrate. “One. Ein. Uno.” 

Derek’s heart sinks. _Only 1?_ Paige. She’s gone.

Stiles glances over one eyebrow up.

“Nope. Not Paige.”

That’s a relief. But…

“Not Kate or Julia, obviously.”

Braeden?

“Nor Braeden.”

Stiles just looks at him expectantly. Wry amusement at his confusion.

Derek’s cannot imagine his heart beating any faster than now. 

Is she… “Alive?” he says, only getting out the last word in his thought. 

Stiles takes a moment. God he really needs to teach him to speak in full sentences. He can’t be reading the big lug’s unsaid thoughts all the time, even if he was getting really good at it. “Hmmm. Yeah your soulmate is very much alive, if I should say so myself.”

Derek frowns at the odd turn of phrase. “Have I met—"

“OH, you’ve _met_. All the meetings have been had.” Stiles is amused to say the least. He could just tell Derek. “Yup, yup, yup. Your soulmate is literally the best.”

Stiles turns to see Derek has stopped 10 steps ago, eyebrows up, eyes large, hands clenched. He can’t help but laugh.

 _It’s me, you big ole dufus._ Stiles doesn’t say. He wasn’t going to just tell Derek and expect the werewolf to accept it. They weren’t very close before, and Derek seems to be realising it all by himself anyway, if Stiles is reading him right.

Stiles has waited for twenty-nine years to find his soulmate. He could wait a bit longer.

“I’ll tell you later.”


	5. Creature Comforts & Baseball Bats

“Holy Architectural Digest Batman! Now _that_ is something!”

The sun was halfway set by the time they made it to the Hale property line and as they got closer, the motion detected lights started blinking to life revealing a two storey modern brick and glass house.

Stiles whistles in approval. “Let it be known that Peter, that crazy sonuvabitch, do indeed has style. Holy fuck! How do you maintain that swimming pool out here in the preserve?”

“Got rid of the trees.” Derek motions his head to the expanded clearing surrounding the building. “Peter says it makes the place easier to manage. The filtration system was pretty expensive. We also have a cleaner who comes in.”

“ _Everything_ looks expensive.”

“It was.” Derek shrugs. It was only money. They had a lot of that. “Peter can probably tell you more.”

“Oh believe me, I’ll be sure to ask. I’m surprised you guys have a cleaner.”

“Peter trusts her. And there are wards.”

So many wards. The way modern mansions were designed, there were a lot big flat surfaces to lay down preventive spells, especially if they needed to be set on specific material like steel or shale. “Still not a fan of fences I see.”

“Nosey teenagers might find hard to trespass.”

Stiles snorts. Sassy motherfucker. The pool water was still. To the right, there are cushioned deck chairs. Further around he spots an outdoor shower, a barbeque pit, and are these tiles heater? Seems like it. Stiles can see how that is definitely a must for the modern millionaire-wolf. “I assume the water is probably heated too.” It’s so goddamn decadent looking, Stiles is tempted to just jump in.

Derek nods. “And the warm water runs under the tiles when it’s filtered so it keeps off frost.”

Stiles hums appreciatively. 

”The pool placement also makes it very hard for people to lay mountain ash around the house. They would have to come all the way up there.“ Derek points to the edge of the house where the pool ends, and the shale outer wall of the mansion’s ground floor began.

“Clever wolf, that Peter.” Bringing some magic from his core to the flat of his palms, Stiles moulds the magic like clay, and then in one smooth motion he squats down and brings his palm to the stone path. When he moves his hands, there is a faint silver glow of running patterns on the ground before it dissipates. If it is set off, this ward will conjure a water elemental bound to Stiles’ will. It could be a useful distraction in a skirmish, spray water to put out flames. He will strengthen it over time. Standing, he turns his head to Derek and smiles softly. “Are you going to show me inside?”

Derek nods and walks up to the nearest glass door. They didn’t bother to put any locks. Even without the wards, there were trip alarms and hidden security cameras all over the compound. No one but pack could get anywhere close to the outer perimeter, let alone the house itself.

“When does my dad get here?”

Derek checks his phone. “Half an hour at least.” He pulls up an unread text message he missed earlier. _Scott McCall: Did you notice anything strange. It’s prob nothing but maybe something?_

“The pack bond. I think Scott felt it.”

Ah yes. They should probably tell their alpha _something_. “Tell Scott to come too. Surprised he didn’t call.” 

This is going to be brutal. Scott is an ugly crier.

\--

Derek offers Stiles a beer from the cellar. Danny likes to buy whatever craft beer he fancies the label of, but he’s a lightweight and leaves many unfinished bottles behind. Most of the pack can’t really get drunk anyway except the sheriff, who really shouldn’t, so Derek hides them in crates in the cellar.

“This also looks surprisingly like a dungeon Derek. Are you leading me into a dungeon? Is it for kinky sex?” 

Derek almost topples a stack of beer. Jesus, the stuff that comes out of Stiles’ mouth. 

Once they were settled back in the lounge room, Stiles pops open a beer and poured it over ice. “Don’t scoff at me. I didn’t just come back from _ten_ different parallel universes so I can drink warm beer _like a barbarian_.”

“I didn’t scoff at you.” Derek frowns as he eyes Stiles' long fingers pour the liquid over ice.

“Aren’t you gonna have something? Don’t you have any wolfy brews around?”

“Peter might have some of that stuff, but he only comes round every few weeks.”

That surprises Stiles. He would imagine that Peter would want to, you know, hang around the gorgeous mansion that was birthed from his impeccable taste.

“He goes with Malia out on the territory. I never… I don’t really like playing around with wolfsbane.”

Stiles shakes his head and smiles. Of course Derek didn’t. “So Danny’s at MIT, yes? Ethan’s at Boston U.”

On the walk back, when Derek was telling him about the pack, Stiles was relieved to know that none of his friends had died while we was away. Eleven years had gone by for him so it made sense to be worried. He half considered just staying in one of the more comfortable universes. He didn’t know how long it would take to get back, if we ever would. Sometimes, on a bad day, it just seemed easier to pick one and stay.

“You guys should make Danny pack. Believe me. He’d make a fantastic wolf.”

“You’ll have to ask Scott.”

There was also the little matter of Ethan, who had made contact with one of the Bostonian packs, and was seemingly happy there. But that is a conversation for another time.

Derek leans back into the plush pillows of the couch and watches as Stiles raises the watered down drink.

“To the pack, past and present, in this universe and the others.”

_Here here._

\--

Deaton could have sworn that people didn’t return from portals like the one Stiles got sucked into. He squinted again at the faint energy emanating from the baseball bat on the shelf. Items considered sacred to a spark often left behind wisps of their power, even after death. The boy had clung to this object as it was so often his weapon of choice. When Stiles disappeared, all traces of his residual magic on the wooden bat went flat. The vet leans closer to it. There's a soft pinging noise, barely audible even with magic sensitivity. Stiles or something sharing the boy’s unique spark signature had crossed over into their realm. The first thing he does is calls Lydia like he promised. Best not make the same mistake of testing her patience.


	6. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father is reunited with his son.

“Dad, don’t worry 'bout it. Roscoe was a fine companion and valiant steed, but I was going to have to get a new car at some point. 29-year-old me would look ridiculous driving around in a baby blue Jeep. It’s probably for the best that it blew up.” Like his heart. Nostalgia only got stronger with age and he would probably miss that Jeep until the day he died, but his father didn’t need to know that. “Really, it’s fine. I might get one of those retired cruisers from a police auction. Or maybe Derek will buy me something nice.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows at the sourwolf.

“You can’t just ask Derek to buy you a car.” The sheriff rubbed his forehead. Only 20 minutes into their reunion, and his kid was already giving him a stress headache.

“You can buy police cruisers?” Derek eyes the sheriff. 

“Gutted ones. The county got a sizeable law enforcement endowment for vehicles as part of some election promise, so we can auction off some of the older clunkers. Gotta gut them first. Some kid in Grovewood picked on up with a siren, caused quite a scene” The sheriff shakes his head at that. 

“Derekkkk” Stiles whines facetiously. “Buy me a carrrrr.” Stiles was only joking, kinda.

“A baby blue jeep?”

“I can’t just replace my baby like that! It wouldn’t be right.” Stiles feigns shock. “Buy me a sexy sports car. Roscoe would want it that way.”

“Fine.”

“Wait, really?” 

“Whatever you want.” Derek means it.

John looks back and forth at his son and Derek.

Oh.

\--

John arrived to the sound of a painfully familiar laughter.

He watched Derek through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Hale mansion. The werewolf was so engrossed in whoever that laughing stranger was that he didn't even notice him walking all the way up and into the house through the open terrace door. If John were an silver axe-wielding huntsman, the big bad wolf would probably be gutted all over the living room floor by now.

The sheriff froze at glimpse of the man from the side. Mid to late twenties, or maybe early thirties. Broad shoulders with strong lean arms. A patchy beard running halfway up his cheek. That voice. Claudia’s nose.

It wasn’t until Derek eyes caught his and jerked in shock, forcing the strangely familiar man to turn and look at him, that John remembered to breathe, coughing on in a giant gasp.

“Dad!”

Deep breath.

“Stiles? You're aliv-" 

But the younger man was out of his seat, swinging himself into him with outstretched arms.

“Dad!” Repeated in a sputtering wild laugh.

There were only light tears. Manly Stilinski tears.

Somehow this is always the way it goes between them. All the actual crying will happen in private, without an audience. John can count on one hand the number of times he has cried openly in front of his son. The kid used to cry in his room, after Claudia died. The sheriff could hear him through the floorboards as just drank himself numb. By the time he hit rock bottom and got sober, Stiles was a young man and too old to cry in front of his father.

Point is, they love each other, but they had to be strong for one another.

Stilinski men do not have the luxury of falling apart.

They stood in each other’s arms and held back their tears, _only just_ , until they had to look away.


	7. Brother

Scott wraps his arms tightly around Stiles and sobs openly.


	8. Luke & Leia (Bonnie & Clyde)

No one did more than Lydia to try and figure out what happened to Stiles. No one.

And that was why she was going to kill them.

When did Stiles get back? Oh, only _**hours ago**_ —and she was only finding out about it _now_? 

Lydia stomped her feet impatiently on the sidewalk as she waited for Jordan. If he doesn’t show up in 5 minutes, she’s calling an uber. Too bad the hunting store was already closed. She needed a gun to shoot them all dead.

\--

“What took you so long?”

“You know I’m still on shift right now? I shouldn’t even be giving you a lift.”

“The pack deals with a lot of the shit that goes down in Beacon Hills, _Deputy_. So please. Kindly would you drive faster.”

“I’m not putting on the siren or breaking traffic rules for this. Besides, what happened to ‘Drive slower, I need to reapply?’”

Lydia pinches the bridge of her nose. The cur. She hates when people turnabout things she’s said before. What the hell happened to give the deputy the impression that he could sass her. If she knew that Jordan “pretty boy hellhound” Parrish was going become so insufferable, she probably wouldn’t have slept those times a few months. Clearly this is learned behaviour, because he was never anything but a complete amicable before.

He still look semi-edible in his uniform though. Ugh.

“For you information, you took so long to come, I already had time to reapply my makeup.”

And she’s glad that she decided not to dress down today. Day-trips to the county library were not generally fancy enough to warrant this amazing dress. And Louboutin pumps. And $2000 earrings.

“Take that up with the sheriff. He said I had to finish up the… _Bombardier_ report.

The Bombardier is what they’re calling that goblin with a penchant for blowing up vehicles all across the state, sometimes with people still in them. Scott, the goddamn softie refused to just kill it, until it made Stiles’ beat up jeep one of its victims. Malia mauled it to death, and since no one wants to argue with a tenuously-sane werecoyote, especially one who lost her whole family in a fiery car accident, Scott just kept his mouth shut.

Lydia is almost curious enough to ask Parrish what nonsense excuse he wrote up in that report. Almost, but not curious enough that she would capitulate, so she says nothing. Grabbing some documents out of her bag, she flips through the latest research.

Parish takes a quick glance at her lap, eyeing the research.

“You can’t still be interested in that stuff now that Stiles is back.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at the hellhound. Just because Stiles has returned all on his own, doesn’t mean she’s going to just do away with everything she’s learned. There were theories upon theories to prove and disprove. And if she knows Stiles, he will be interested too.

“There is no satisfaction learning nothing from failure. Not that I haven’t already learnt plenty. Like I’ve learnt that Harvard should really have better cyber security. Some of these journals aren’t supposed to leave their collection. And this—“ She pulls out a thick hard leather-bound book. “is a 300-year old hand-written grimoire from Salem, predating the witch trials, but discovered much later. This should be in the Smithsonian.”

“You know, I’m a man of the law. Should you be telling me this?”

Lydia just rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t hack their system. Someone else did. I happened to benefit from it, completely coincidentally.”

“Danny—“

“Danny is an MIT undergrad and, I suspect, an FBI contractor, who only _happens_ to live in the same state as Harvard and Salem. Besides, the Beacon City Library’s Hale Family Book Conservation  & Archival Wing is now one of the best preservation centres in the country. I’m sure it’s not in any way suspicious that a 300-year-old tome was sent here to be _restored_.” She taps at the cover of the book with her nails and dares Jordan to respond.

He doesn’t.

Good. Now if only he would drive faster.

She goes back to reading, and starts digging around for her makeup and mirror. It’s only written in archaic Latin anyway, so she still has extra brain capacity to plot violence on her inconsiderate friends in between lip liner strokes.

It’s only when she sees Scott, wrapped around the person who she guesses is Stiles, wailing like an infant, that she lets herself be placated. This was the annoying twerp from high school who somehow became the brother she never knew she wanted.

Her makeup was going to get ruined.

\--

Lydia is stunned by his appearance. She mentally plots out every logical, and a few idiosyncratic, explanations for Stiles’ obvious age discrepancy. She has 8 so far.

She also decides that age suits him. Speaking of suits, he could probably fill one out nicely now.

“Try not to get any of the crybaby’s tears onto this dress. It’s vintage Saint Lauren, when it was still Yves.”

“Lyds! Queen of my world. All of them.” Stiles bends and kisses her forehead, then leans in and rests his cheek on her, which he does easily now that he’s taller than before. 

“All? So, more than one.” Small tears drips down her check.

“Eleven, including this one.”

“You know, that’s a significant number in certain theories.” She won’t let her emotions turn her into a babbling fool, or any kind of fool, babbling or not.

“Astrophysics and Quantum Physics, I know.” Stiles nods into her head, swaying them a tad.

Her brain is hard-pressed to go down that particular rabbit hole at the moment.

“How old are you?” She stifles a small sniff, and regains her posture.

“Twenty nine.”

29 is not that old, but also stretches the definition of young. Only older people would consider this man a kid now. His beard is scratching into her forehead.

Eleven again? What the hell? Nope, not going there right now. Too cerebral.

“About damn time you came back.” It’s all Lydia could say to keep the conversation going so as not to break the hug.

“I apologise my lady. I guess you have some theories for me to disprove?” 

“Damn straight. I don’t like unprovable open theories. And I _**hate**_ failure.”

“Well then. When we have time, I will go through my findings with you.”

“See that you do.” She hugs him closer.

“I have charts.”

“So do I.”

Lydia breathed deeply, and felt good enough to laugh. Small, but genuine. As they broke the hug, Stiles held her just below her shoulders, willing her to be fine.  
“It wasn’t your fault okay. The portal wasn’t anyone’s fault. I’ve stopped blaming myself, so you should stop blaming yourself.”

Lydia hasn’t apologised, but she had been feeling responsible, and Stiles has just brushed away her unsaid apology like he didn’t get stuck in fuck-knows-where for more than a decade.

\--

“70:30”

“70:30?”

“Whatever proofs we discover as a result of my adventure of doom, I propose a 70:30 split of the profits.” Stiles says.

“We can negotiate this later.” She says seriously.

\--

“The whole 11d theory is M-theory. I don’t see how any of this could mean literally 11 parallel universes. Admittedly, I am not a theoretical physicist, nor a particular fan of superstring theory.” Lydia twirled her vodka & soda. They ran out of champagne and she doesn’t drink beer. It’s a good thing she bought a SodaStream for the house.

Stiles loves their discussions, he really does. He could do it all day.

“It’s too much of a coincidence don’t you think? At least Lydia-11 thought so.”

“Is that the me from the last universe you were in? Shouldn’t she be Lydia-10?”

“Why? Because you’re Lydia-zero? That’s what I thought at first, but it doesn’t make sense. You’re not the seed for the other yous, and you are a physical being, not a zero-able unit of measurement, like time or distance.”

“You’re right. Okay, tell me about Lydia-11.”

“She theorised that 11, or something approaching 11, could be a key number repeated across concepts in physics. Like the Fibonacci sequence or something which is basically propagation of binary. 11 could be something that appears often, but maybe we didn’t notice because it’s not as commonly found in 3-dimensional space.”

“Or maybe it’s not connected. We should be extrapolating meaning to something that is mere coincidence.”

“Mmm hmm. Could be.”

“What do you know about the branes concept?”

“Enough that I want to stab myself with a sharp object.”

“Did any of the other universes feel different? More than 3 dimensional?”

“This isn’t Insterstellar Lydia. I did not travel to the fifth dimension. I’m pretty sure I was in parallel universes. Dimensions, universes, different.”

“That’s why I brought up branes.”

“Although I did cry a lot, and aged relatively, so maybe I _am_ Matthew McConaughey. Is that what you think happened? I transformed into Matthew McConaughey? And if so can I still be Jerry O’Connell? Matthew O’McConnellhey?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now. Who the hell is Jerry O’Connell? And I already told you I don’t buy into superstring theory like everyone else. I like parts of it, but it seems too—“ Lydia swirls her wrist trying to find the word.

“Mansplained? It does. The mathematics is too nebulous, but the proposed solution is so simple.”

“Right. At the very lease it is possible that all the universes you travelled to exist on the same 4 dimensions that we can observe, and thus neither proving nor disproving the other 7.”

“Assuming that _Time_ is the 4th dimension. Time could be dimensions 4 through 11 for all we know. After all, the 3 spacial dimensions interchange so well to Time itself. We call it Spacetime for a reason.”

“This is infuriating.”

“ _ **That**_ you can blame yourself for. Everything I’m telling you is stuff parallel universe Lydias have told me.”

“You can’t blame me for something the Tensors-Lydia told you. I can’t be competing with parallel versions of myself.”

“Tensors Lydia?”

“Like Attorneys General. Tensors are the parallel universe versions of us. The name describes the Tensor, therefor the plural goes on the noun.”

“Nice, I like that.” Even after 11 dimensions, Lydia manages to surprise Stiles with new ways of seeing things. “You will take credit for any discoveries you make utilising their assumptions though.”

“Naturally,” she agrees. “50:50.”

“Oh no no no no. I’ve lost actual years. 11 of them to be precise. 65:35. That’s my final offer.”

\--

Somewhere in the room, Scott groans. 

“ **Oh my god** , make it stop. Sheriff. Sir. Arrest them please. They’re killing me.”

“I’m sorry you two, but the people have spoken. I’m arresting you both.” The sheriff deadpans.


	9. 7-Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do tests to see if Stiles really is in the right universe.
> 
> Spoiler: he is.

It was decided that until it was confirmed, the fewer people who knew about Stiles’ return the better. It could get complicated. Stiles knew from experience.

So far, the only people who knew were Derek, The Sheriff, Scott, Lydia, Jordan, and Deaton. The druid didn’t look the least bit surprised when Stiles barged into the veterinarian’s office, not even shocked by the age difference. Stiles hates that secretive know-it-all.

“What does this test involve?” Deaton stares at the scribbles Stiles gives him.

“It’s different in each world. Magic itself is a core concept, but the specifics are always different”

“Let me guess. _It’s subtly different_ ” Lydia air-quotes.

“You betcha.” Stiles does his favourite impression. Well, favourite now that he knows how much Lydia hates it.

Lydia winces. She really doesn’t want to think about _**that**_ particular world and _**that**_ particular Vice President.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I keep telling you it’s not a bad thing. So she’s the Veep in that world. She’s not the same Sarah Palin. Much less crazy and still really unimportant in the big scheme of things as it turns out. If you’re gonna keep blanching every time, I’m just gonna do it more.”

“Stop being ridiculous. So what are we working from? What spell?”

“There’s no base spell. And as for _subtle differences_ , they can really add up. Das Deatons and Le Un Peter always insisted on researching the spell from scratch. Without assumptions.” Stiles sighs. He doesn’t really like this part. Explaining, and then having to find out if he really **IS** in the right universe. “Also, it’s like a drug-store pregnancy test. You do a few just to be sure. We’ll do a dew different spells just to be extra sure. Like here, this one—“ Stiles points to a page he’s just flipped to on the Salem grimoire.

“Hex of Worldy Knowing” Lydia translates from Archaic Latin. “That doesn’t sound ominous and vague at all.”

“Mmm hmm.” Stiles agrees. “They could have definitely named it better. Like Soul Checker 98 Professional Edition.” Stiles has to duck a slap from Lydia. “Anyway, this hex could tell us something about my soul at least. Whether it belongs to this world.”

“One of the things it checks for, is a person virility.” She translates.

“Well that’s… good.”

“What happens if you pass, or conversely fail, the test?” Deaton asks as he starts pulling some ingredients off shelves.

“Apart from knowing how virile I am?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows.

“A small mark will appear on your skin where the hex is placed. Red if you pass. Black if you fail. Other side-effects include rapidly growing eyebrows.” Lydia sighs. Who the hell invented this spell?

“Well if I ever singe off my eyebrows I know which spell to use. And I think I found another spell that could work in conjunction.” Stiles flips through a different book belonging to Deaton. “Aqua Planisprincipium Intergritatum. Oh good, English translation. It’s a potion that tests your body’s internal—“ He trails on as Lydia scoots closer to peek over his shoulder.

\--

“Congratulations Stiles.” Deaton is the one to say because Lydia is already reaching for the Champagne under the table.

“SCOTT! Get in here!” Stiles is flailing his arms so hard they might fly off.

“IT’S A BOY?” Scott yells from the other room. It’s the same joke he’s been making for the last hour.

Scott’s shift ended almost an hour ago, and although he was keeping the company, ostensibly to help, Lydia forced him to sit in the other room because she was going to “curse him with penis rot if he kept interrupting”.

He’s been an anxious puppy all day, causing all the animals in the other room to squirm on his vibes. Scott couldn’t lose another Stiles, even if this wasn’t _his_ Stiles.

The mood has been much more jovial and light-hearted in the last hour once it became apparent that Stiles was passing all the tests they picked out. Not one single failure. Not even the ones they were sure were too vague to not at least come up with some false negatives.

Lydia sighs. “He’s not pregnant. He _is_ however, according to this test, not in a parallel universe relative to is place of origin.” Lydia smiles at the latest test result. After 7 different tests, they decided it was all the proof they needed.

_7-eleven Lydia. It’s fate._

_You’re deciding your fate because of the name of convenience store?_

_Stiles shrugged._

_C'mon Lyds. It doesn't matter how overpriced they are, everyone always ends up in a 7-eleven late at night without even knowing how they got there. It's a paradox, just like my life._

_Me being friends with you is a paradox._

Scott and Stiles cheered, hugged, high-fived, cried, hugged some more.

Those two—Seriously. Lydia sends a text to Derek, then joined in the hug, misty-eyed as her phone started buzzing.

\--

Derek felt like he might jump out of his skin (or fur) at any moment, sitting on the passenger side of the cruiser, as the Sheriff drove towards the vet office. He wanted to run or drive the damn cruiser himself, but he was only a deputy-in-training and getting caught for speeding his first day in training was probably a thing his future boss might frown upon. 

Still he couldn’t help but feel antsy. 

This isn’t his Camaro. It’s the goddamn Sheriff’s cruiser. And this counts as an emergency right? If it were up to him, he’d put on the sirens and ignore the traffic lights. The Sheriff on the other hand was gripping the wheel tightly, focused on getting there as slow as fucking possible.

Sensing Derek’s impatience, the John accelerated ever so slightly faster. “Sorry son, but I want to get us there in one piece. I’m too wired on damn coffees and no sleep.”

Derek nods. He suspects that John thinks he is floating in a dream and is too scared to wake up, but C’MON!

The moment the cruiser pulls up in the vet’s parking lot, he rushes out and practically slams into the mountain ash barrier. He’s crouched and ready to howl when the sheriff taps the door open from over his shoulder and Derek spills in, trailing the familiar scent into the back room.

It’s chaos.

Scott’s phone is on the table playing his go-to EDM DJ mix on max volume.

Lydia is opening another bottle of champagne from the case that she brought.

 _You’re tempting fat with the just-in-case-case of champagne Lydia_ Stiles had complained before. Now he’s taking a swig of bubbly from a medical-looking glass, arms around Scott’s shoulders, doing a jig.

Then it all happens at once. Stiles spots Derek and rushes around furniture and slams into the werewolf’s body, arms holding on either side of Derek’s face, cupping his ears, and pulls him in for a kiss.

Derek just melts into it, like it’s the most natural thing, letting out all his pent up nerves from the day, from Lydia’s text message, from his subsequent call and painfully long drive over.

_Your soulmate is literally the best._

Of, fucking, course.

That is the first thing John sees when he walks into the room—his (now confirmed) son kissing the scruffy wolfman. John guesses that he doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on, his thing with Peter and all that, but If he wants hugs, he’s going to have to interrupt them.

“Stiles!” 

Stiles jerks out of his embrace with Derek and rushes to hug his father.

“Daddy-o. My dad. Father-o-mine!” They both laugh. Pure joy. 

“You better have him over for dinner at least one night a week.” The sheriff mumbles into his son’s neck before spinning Stiles around so he can look at Derek. “And son, If you ever hurt—“

“Dad, I was 18, and legal mind you, when I got schlepped into the portal, and I’m 29 now. I’m **older** than Derek by like 3 or 4 years. No need to defend my honour. Not gonna waste any more time so I’m marrying that sourwolf, in Vegas or something, and _we’ll_ have you over for dinner.”

Derek vision goes blurry, his heart pounding with _Yes! Matematematemarryforeveryes!_ It always bothered him, that feeling of simultaneous unease and succour when he was around Stiles. He drowned in it if he wasn’t careful, and missed it like a limb when it was gone.

Then, as abruptly as he’d left, Stiles returns to invade Derek’s space, and lips.

Scott pops a champagne all over them.

Soul _fucking_ mates.


	10. Peter

He is speechless.

“Are you there? Did I get disconnected. Fuck hold on lemme call you back.“ Scott ends the call.

Peter picks up on the first ring.

“Peter? Is this better? Can you hear me?”

Peter nods, then feels stupid. “Yes. Go on.” 

“So yeah did you hear what I said? Stiles is back. I’m not sure how, but he came back. He turned up yesterday and Lydia spent all of today making sure he was really him using magic stuff. Hello?”

“Er- ah. I see,” he chokes out finally. “Where are you, um,”

“Oh right, that’s why I’m calling. We’re at Deaton’s now in the back room, but we’re gonna move this party to Sheriff Stilinski’s house so he can drink too. See you there yeah? And tell Malia.”

“Ah right. Yes. We’ll see you there.”

He just holds the phone as the call disconnects, and sits down on the nearby log, shocked wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt at the moment. It’s been a weird few years. It wasn’t too long ago that Scott would have probably left him out of the loop, but things are slowly changing. And Stiles returning would spark that change further. His pack was strong again.

“MALIA!” He shouts, standing up again. She’s somewhere around here. Probably not more than half a mile away but maybe far enough that normal volume might not reach her. “SCOTT CALLED. THEY HAVE STILES!” He can hear her surprised yelp northeast somewhere so he turns in the direction of town and starts running. His daughter is a faster sprinter thamn him so she’ll catch up easily at this pace.


	11. Puppy Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV (mostly)
> 
> And this is also where the **Mature** rating begins, for references to gay orgies, Sheriff/Peter, and others.

“Oh my god I think Liam is drunk. Who let him have the puppy punch?” Stiles asks no one in particular whilst eying a half wolfed-out teenager rolling around on the ground giggling.

“I only gave him a little. C’mon it’s fine.” Scott yells at from the kitchen. “I know you’re old now, but stop hating fun.”

Stiles resents the raucous laughter that fills the house. 28 isn’t _old_. His friends suck.

Obviously he should have stayed in World-7, or was it World-8. Whichever world it was that the pack were also swingers. Those guys were a hoot. And they even helped him answer the age-old question—How many people having sex on a Queen sized bed is too many? Five apparently. One of the small scars he has on his back is actually from that Scott’s nails scratching him mid-coitus, after Isaac accidentally elbowed him in the face and broke his nose, causing the alpha to wolf-out. Gotta hand it to Scott though. He didn’t even slow down thrusting into Stiles.

Mental note: Get a **king size** bed, because you never know when a parallel-world doppelganger will ask you to play strip Twister with him, Derek, Scott, Isaac. Although I guess there wouldn’t be two Stiles-es this time. Unless like, maybe Peter? Liam? Is he 18? Stop it Stiles. You’re in a room full of wolves. They can smell your arousal.

“I don’t think you are the only one who gave him a little Scott. Oh my god Dad! You gave him some too didn’t you? Just save that pizza box before he rolls on it. I think there’s half a meat lovers still in that.”

Derek comes up from behind him and sniffs. “You smell good.”

_Oh baby Jesus._

\--  
Everyone is just so wasted.

Puppy Punch™ was a success.

Stiles almost can’t believe no one figured out how to make aconite liquor in his absence. No one bothered to ask Peter? Aren’t they in college? What the fuck Derek, you teetotaling born-wolf. The only reason he doesn’t berate them more is because he can totally imagine Scott drinking himself to literal death after _The Incident_ if he’d known how. Luckily, Peter had all the right types of dried wolfsbanes (of course he did) so Stiles threw together a recipe he’d learnt along the way.

**PUPPY PUNCH**  
1/2 g dried Aconitum partesanimalis  
1/2 g dried Aconitum saltatio  
1/2 g dried Aconitum ecstasiadelicium  
1 bottle of Everclear  
Liberal use of flavoured syrup, preferably citrus or cherry.  
Sprig of mint, preferably apple mint, but not spearmint.  
Blend together. 

He used a blender and everything. He’s practically Martha Stewart.

Everclear burns on the way down, even with tough werewolf gullets. But the alcohol is not the point. It’s needed to mull the aconite, and the closer to pure ethanol, the better, because it’s the wolfsbane that does the de-sobering. And the only syrup they had on hand was his father’s diet Lemon cordial. Oh well… it’s not his sensitive tastebuds on the line.

So now, everyone is so wasted except Stiles because he needs to keep an eye on the first-time drunkwolfs. Even Lydia is drunk on all the champagne.

He’d never seen Derek drunk before and it was hilarious listening to his mate do shots with his sister on Facetime. There was a lot of giggling and patented Hale-family eyebrow movements.

Malia is curled up as a coyote in the bathtub upstairs, letting the cool smooth surface calm her back to sobriety. She only wakes up to growl at anyone who tries to use the bathroom.

Why were there in his dad’s house? The new and improved Hale Mansion’s poolside would have been infinitely more awesome. Oh right. His dad gave the humans a lift here in his cruiser, and he needs the car first thing tomorrow.

His Dad retired to his bedroom a few hours ago. Peter disappeared somewhere around the same time. Stiles doesn’t want to think about that too hard. He knows what other versions of Peters and his dad can get up to. Sometimes either of them could end up with Melissa, sometimes each other. Judging by Derek’s and Scott’s scrunched up faces afterwards… well - go dad! They’re not soulmates, that much he knows for sure. Peter might have no soulmate - the chart isn’t conclusive. But he knows that his Dad’s was his mom. In all the universes where she survived they’re still together. But in the absence of living soulmates, or any, Peter and his dad’s options are wide open. Oh my god, don’t think about the puns. And he misses his mom so much he might cry.

What even is this train of thought? Fuck maybe he is a little drunk. Where is Melissa anyway? He is about to ask Scott when his thought is interrupted by none other.

“Dude! Eerp whaa- so waittt. We had sex? We- I mean, you had sc-ex with otdder me?” Scott chuckles at his own inability to make words. “Ah- I love dis man. Ife wanded to be drumfk for lihk yerrrz. But relly, us and the sexing?” Scott looks suss about it. Somehow Peter and his dad’s shenanigans upstairs has thrown all conversation into the gutter.

“I’ve slept with 2 Scotts actually. And an Isaac, during that… orgy.” Stiles says tentatively. Is a five-way considered an orgy? “Quite a few of my doppels. Not even sure that’s sex or just an elaborate form of masturbation. And many many Dereks. The other me’s have always been happy to share or tag their Derek.” Obviously. He is Stiles, and Stiles in any universe is totally on board with freaky threesomes. 

“Oddly, never Malia except in this universe. Peter, more than once, that freak. Here or anywhere, he loves to mess with Derek and hey, I was technically a slutty college aged tourist in a foreign land, why not. Ethan & Aidan. Danny. Jackson” He’s not slurring, but he is talking really slowly and deliberately, like he’s trying not to slur. 

He eyes a closed-lid smiling Derek, who’s head is in his lap, with his feet on the other side of the long couch. No reaction. He must not have heard about Stile’s sexy-times with alternate universe uncles and kanimas. He can’t say the same for Scott.

“JACKSON! Oh my-erp god.” Scott burp-laughs so hard he can barely breathe.

“What?” Stiles fakes outrage. “Jackson is hot. Didn’t you say he’s a model now. See, it’s not strange. I could be a modelizer. Just look at Derek. I bet he used to be an underwear model.” Stiles gets it. It is hilarious and Scott and him are both man-whores. Who knew. 

“I mean, They weren’t really you guys. And I wasn’t really Stiles to them. I was just some other guy. Like a foreign cousin. I’m _Miguel!_ Miguel O’McConnolley!”

“But I thot you still hate Jaxson”

“I’m 29 years old buddy. It’s been a long time since high school. I don’t hate the guy. I’m at peace with his douchey pretty face, and body, and connected appendages.” Stiles laughs when Scott scrunches his face. 

“That’s mess’d up. Not like in a bad way. Just weird ye.” Scott is very amused in his armchair, his feet massaging a prone Liam passed out on the ground.

From her own seat, Lydia, ever the classy lady, even while drunk, looks up from her phone and eyes Stiles incredulously. She points at herself.

Stiles snorts. “No Lydia. Almost. In that last one, Lydia-11. She was in her forties, such a cougar lemme tell you.” They has kissed, but both knew he was going to leave at some point so it never came to anything. “You happy? In every universe I’ve been to, you have trampled on my efforts and squandered your chance on this” He gestures to himself in an up and down motion. Derek makes a grunt that sounds suspiciously like sass.

Lydia smiles sweetly, satisfied, and goes back to her phone, probably chatting with Jackson by the way her eyes are gleaming. Stiles told her earlier in the night that Jackson was one of her soulmates, maybe her only one according to his charts, and they had a long theoretical discussion on the whole concept and how she thought it might fit into the whole meta-physical parallel universe dichotomy until everybody yelled at them to stop because it was hurting their brains.

She demanded to be a part of his research into what she called ‘the confirmation either for or against the 11-dimension theory and the study of similar relationship matrices across those dimensions’. Like he was going to turn her away. Nobel prizes don’t just win themselves, and he had a 65% share, maybe less.

“Stiles, you whore.” Scott sure knows how to cut through the pie straight to the pan don’t he?

Now it’s Lydia’s turn to laugh. “Really?”

At the same time as Derek says, “Coming from you Scott?” Stiles didn’t think he was awake. He didn’t even open his eyes. Sassy drunk cuddlewolf.

He can only laugh.

“Oh and… fuck. I need to tell you. You should totally offer Danny the bite. Chomp chomp. He’s such a good wolf you have no idea.”

“Whativ Ee rejecks the bite? Eefan wud kill me. Then he’d be dealfa and fuckkk-“

Stiles laughs at his best friend’s drunken slurring.

“Nah man. Bite rejection can be cured. Easy. It’s actually just an allergic reaction. Not magic at all. The magic is still happening, but the body dies before the transformation due to…” he thinks a second. It’ll come to him. Fuck he shouldn’t have drank so much. “due to, fuck I don’t remember. Lydia, this was one of your theories. Then we proved it we… fuck why can’t I remember. OH! OH! Melissa was involved in this too. Lydia, you and I need to go have a chat with Melissa about it. It has something to do with allergies. We just need to make a werewolf EpiPen. Someone must know.”

He turns back to Scott. “And don’t worry. Danny won’t reject the bite. Neither will I, it turns out. I have seen the living proof, well not living because _that_ Stiles was dead. But not because of the bite, because of hunters.”

Scott looks crushed. “Noooo- poor guy. His dad. Noo- You haf anee idea how much we misst yuu?” He stumbles out of his chair, stumbles over Liam, and falls on top of Derek and reaches behind to hug his best friend. “No dying fo u. It skukt bawls”

Stiles can feel Scott about to turn on the waterworks again - ugly ugly waterworks – and he needs to say something to shock Scott out of it or be very damp for the foreseeable future.

“I know buddy. _It sucks balls._ But just think - My actual dad is upstairs comfortably asleep in bed, probably next to Peter, naked, after sucking actual balls.”

That does it. Scott is shocked so hard he flings himself away and lands back into his armchair.

Liam is passed out so hard, or possibly dead, and doesn’t stir.

Derek groans, but barely moves.

Lydia stands up to go upstairs to sleep in Stiles’ old bedroom.

All is good in the world. He adjusts himself so he can lie on top of Derek’s chest, and the wolf wrap around him so they can fit together on the couch.

Stiles is so happy in this moment he could die, even if Scott won’t allow it.

\--

Deputy Jordan Parrish receives a report in the morning from a woman who swore she saw zombies at the sheriff’s house. He swings by to check and finds the door wide open, multiple pack members stumbling around inside demanding coffee, and Derek half-lidded next to the percolator waiting for it to be done.

The sheriff however, is nowhere in sight. He better go wake his boss up. If he could get around the coffee-deprived zombies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a deleted Sterek sex scene that takes place just after this chapter and before the next one.  
> <http://archiveofourown.org/works/6487042>


	12. Early Morning Text Messages In London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson's POV

**+1-505-555-0117**  
► Stiles is home.  
► I expect you to visit.  
► Photo received.

Jackson just stares at the photo.

It’s of a man he doesn’t recognise sitting on a couch with Derek’s head in his lap. He’s laughing at someone off camera. The picture is clearly taken from across someone’s lap. He can see a single long leg peeking from below the shot, crossed over, with expensive looking black stilettos on the foot.

Must be Lydia then.

It’s too early morning, and he curls himself deeper into his sheets and tries to ignore the message, doesn’t have the energy be snarky or passive aggressive to his ex-girlfriend. Although, he has to admit, at least to himself, that he’d been thinking of the pack a lot more often lately. It’s been, what, a year since Isaac told him about Stiles’ disappearing into a portal and presumed death. Doesn’t make it want to go back or anything, but he can’t help but feel something for his former friends. That kind of loss is not something he would wish on anyone, especially on Lydia.

The thing about being alone is it becomes harder to deceive yourself when you have not one to act out your pseudo lack-of-concern to. All you are left with is the tug in your chest. Your actual true-to-god emotions, and wasn’t that a bitch.

Replying at this hour was probably a mistake, but he let’s his fingers swipe a response as he squints at the screen through morning eyes.

◄ What am I looking at? 

**+1-505-555-0117**  
► Stiles  
► •••

Holy shit! He thought that man looked familiar. But he is so much older, and a beard, and broad-shoulders, that couldn’t be Stiles... He gets impatient for Lydia to finish her next message. Why does he even care?

► He’s 29 years old.  
► Handsome, don’t you think?

What the… it’s probably because of supernatural reasons right? It’s probably magic, or whatever Beacon Hills insanity. Jackson feels a pang of something. It’s instinctive and troublesome, so he shoos the feeling away. He doesn’t have the right to be, what? Envious? Jealous? That his ex-girlfriend, who he hasn’t kept in touch with for years, thinks this older Stiles looks good. I mean why would he care? And Derek seems to be all over that—finally.

He sighs as he saves Lydia’s number in his phone.

◄ How?

 **Lydia Martin**  
► Photo received.  
► Photo received.  
► Photo received.

No words or explainations, just more photos from the night. Obviously Lydia Martin isn’t just going to just resume a conversation with him just because they have common ground at the moment, but this is something. He can’t do it now, but he might be able to visit soon. He’s got a few jobs booked over the next 2 to 3 weeks. Add another few weeks to procrastinate and totally freak out, he should be ready to head up in a month or so. He checks his phone calendar. It could work he thinks, and mentally estimates how much freak-out time he needs.

He books a flight before snuggling deeper into his blankets.


	13. Unsent Eggplant Emojis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kira's POV

Kira is on her third coffee in Salt Lake City Airport, waiting for her changeover to Sacramento. She’s barely ate anything at Philly Airport, and wasn’t keen on eating anything on the flight. It makes her queasy. Combine the lack of food, sleep, nerves and add to that a whole bunch of coffee. She feels like a nuclear power station ready to blow.

Freaking Princeton and freaking Beacon Hills both being in the middle of freaking nowhere. She would have driven, but well it seemed like a stupid idea at the time, probably still was.

She taps her phone.

◄ OMG SCOTT.  
◄ Flight delayed 3hrs.  
◄ This is THE WORST.

 **Scott**  
► No prob  
► Ill just get some starbks  
► Call me when when u land  
► Or call zak if my phone is desd. Only 32% left.  
► Dead*  
► He will probs get here befoe u

◄ OMG 32% is enough for 3 hours if you stop using Tinder 

She knew that horn dog only too well.

 **Scott**  
► ITS 2 HOURS UNTIL ZAK GETS HERE!!!  
► I’M SO BOREDD!!!  
► AND THERE ARE FLIGHT ATTNDANTS!  
► I HAVE 12 MATCHES AND COUNTING 

She starts typing eggplant emojis until she realises something. This is her ex-boyfriend, her loveable dopey wonderful cheating ex. She puts the phone away and rubs her face. Maybe she should get another coffee. She should get a punch card, start racking up those bonus cups. Surely the server will punch those previous cups right? Right. Right right. She’s so clever.

\--

She turns switches off flight mode after arriving in Sacramento, while waiting at the bag carousel, and messages flood in.

 **Dad**  
► I hope your flight went well  
► Call mom later when you can  
► You know how she gets

 **Scott**  
► I’m back. Zak plane has landed.  
► What are you txting? Its been dot dot dot for ages  
► KIRA!!!  
► At Starbucks

 **Isaac Lahey**  
► We are at the Starbucks.  
► Scott smells like a whore house.  
► But also like pack.  
► And Stiles  
► But mostly like a fucking cum rag  
► Sending you something extra

 _New message on Wickr Messenger._  
**Isaac Argent**  
► Saw your plane just landed.  
► They’re doing extra bag checks today. Find the TSA lady with red hair and complement her glowing aura. Partner is WW  
► Friendly faces for the busy kits uno  
► Kitsune*

Good to know.

She'd better call her mother and let the nervous wreck know she's arrived safetly.


	14. The French Passport & A Family Of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac's POV (mostly)

Isaac loathes long-haul flights. His delicate werewolf senses are overtaxed with weird smells floating around the cabin. Ugh. The cumulative body odour of 200 people in a rickety metal box with wings, he should have taken a boat, or a yak. He could have crossed over the Arctic ice into Canada. It would have taken months but, and he would probably have to kill the yak and sleep in its stomach for warmth, but anything would be better than this. He wished he took his dad’s advice and used a temporary nose inhibiting hex, but was adamant that he wouldn’t need it like last time. He doesn’t have control issues anymore and he doesn’t like having his sense of smell blocked by a hunting spell—or that’s what he thought at least.

He should have known better. It’s not even about control at this point, just about comfort.

It’s been 3 years of living with his father in France. Mostly France. Chris formally adopted, well, formally forged adoption papers and backdated them a few years. They needed to if Isaac wanted to apply for a European passport. So, even though it was mostly for administrative convenience, the moment his legitimately-issued French passport arrived, something changed between them. 

Maybe it was that Chris had no other family, his father, sister, wife, daughter all dead. And Isaac had no family either. Chris bought him a car, hired tutors to home school him, trained him on weekends, even put him into the official family tree and wrote him into his will.

Turns out many hunter families have werewolves and other non-humans in their family. Some encourage it even. The Argents forbade it long after it became du jour among other families. Chris always thought it was a matter of pride, but perhaps it was just prejudice. As the last of Les Trois Familles, they stuck with the suicide clause if they were turned, ala Victoria, because when you are the only of the three so-called great hunting families left, you couldn’t help but be mired in nostalgia.

That was their biggest mistake. If you cling to history, you don’t move forward, and that rigid code almost destroyed them. Fortunately it all changed when Allison re-wrote it. Unfortunately, Allison didn’t survive to see her plan revitalise her once great family line.

Isaac misses her so much sometimes that it hurts. He can't imagine what Chris would be feeling.

With Allison gone, and there being no more potential female matriarchs in the main family, the only Argent of any significance left was Chris. He could barely imagine the idea of having new children. He would be almost 70 by the time they were ready to be trained. 

Nope… Isaac was his heir now.

A beta werewolf who loved Allison and would honour her memory. This was how the most ancient Argent line would survive.

Few but the top lieutenants in the Argent clan knew that Isaac was a werewolf, but it didn’t matter. They were changing the culture from the ground up in honour of Allison Argent, the last true-blooded Argent matriarch. Without the suicide clause, more werewolves would eventually enter the clan, by accident or otherwise, and his hunters would learn to deal with it.

To think Chris wanted to retire from the business when they first came to France after Allison’s death. But there is no running away from a hunter’s life—Chris should have known that, and Isaac certainly knew that now. Back then there was so much raw sadness that it didn’t seem all that important what was technically possible, and what was wishful thinking.

Now he is training to be the next Argent patriarch. Him, a werewolf who all but deserted his own back. Isaac can laugh about the irony now. He hoped that somewhere Gerard, Kate and Victoria were rolling in their shallow graves.

It’s taken them all this time and so much death, but both men had families again.  
And partly because they needed to scam France out of a passport.

_Tres hilare!_

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░  
**RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE**  
**PASSPORT**

_Nom/Surname_  
**ARGENT**

_Prénoms/Names_  
**ISAAC,JOSHUA,LAHEY**  
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

  
It’s contradictions like these that keep Isaac sane while he breathes through his mouth and prays for a swift death to come release him from these awful smells.

The head stewardess makes the announcement that they are about to land, first in French, which Isaac is starting to understand now, and then in English. He laughs at how much they’ve left out of the English announcement. In French they were informed about the various sights and attractions in San Francisco, and in English they were only told to get back to their seats, bring it to an upright position, and buckle up.

\--

The connecting flight to Sacramento is mostly painless.

It’s a smaller plane and an emptier flight. This means less smells, thank fuck!

He has to clear customs again though, which sucks. New additional security measures. There was some kind of bomb scare so the airports are on high alert. It’s probably nothing. Any nutjob can phone in a threat and the airport would have to take it seriously, especially in the Californian capitol. France however, has been shaken by seemingly endless terrorism since Isaac went over, so he’s not completely ungrateful for the extra vigilance.

He hates being frisked though. He would rather his personal space not be violated. Frisking always puts his wolf on edge.

Taking his dad’s advice, he looks for the TSA officer with bright red hair. She’s on the far left, bored looking and waving people through the giant body scanners in front of the line. She looks like Poison Ivy—if Poison Ivy were a latina.

Nearby, there’s another TSA agent working the screens. Something about him rankles Isaac, even from this distance. The TSA agent stops suddenly to sniff the air, then turns to look directly at Isaac, then whispers something to his colleague.

When Isaac reaches the front, he smiles at Poison Ivy, who stares back it him warily.

“Your aura is nice. Glowing, even.”

Poison Ivy’s shoulders relax and she smiles. “Thanks. Did you fly coach?”

He nods.

She lets out a small laugh. “Oh dear. All those smells.” Nearby, the other TSA officer laughs too.

He nods seriously. “I’m gonna have to deal with that on the way back.” he grouses, then rubs his nose. “I might have to use a sense blocker.”

She shakes her head and continues good-naturedly “No, it’s good to have a sniffer dog on board sometimes.” Poor taste, but such jokes are common among human pack members. Her partner lets out a low growl and then soft laughter.

“Where are you heading to?” she asks, official sounding.

“Beacon Hills,” he answers succinctly.

“McCall.” She says in acknowledgement. “They your pack?”

Pack? He think about it. How long has it been that he has considered them his pack? When Allison died, he left. He could feel the bonds, but he left anyway.

When Stiles was gone, he came back to help with the research. He owed the pack that much, and when it became clear they probably couldn’t bring Stiles back, he came anyway to spend time with his broken-hearted alphas: **Scott** , his current alpha and best friend before the Allison love triangle highschool drama, then the heartache of her death. **Derek** , his former alpha. The person who brought him into the pack, who gave him ownership of his life, only to be completely caught in the undertow of successive battles. The person who pushed him away so that Scott could protect him. The person who couldn’t move on, literally, and sat at the nemeton where Stiles disappeared every spare moment he got.

Goddammit. He guess they are his pack again, or maybe they never stopped being pack.

Isaac smiles and nods. “Yeah, pack. My alpha is waiting in the arrival lounge.”

\--

Scott has left a scent trail for him all the way from the arrival exit to the Starbucks.

He spots Scott just before the alpha’s nose twitches, looking up from his phone. His friend breaks into a huge smile when he spots Isaac pulling his luggage along.  
“Zak!”

When Isaac is close enough, Scott pulls his into a tight hug.

“It’s so good to see you man.”

Isaac winces. While he can pick out the strongest scent of _alpha alpha alpha_ , he can also smell _sex jizz sweat cum vagina_ , and that is just way too much. It’s so offensive, the way he’s being wrapped up in the smell hug that he almost barfs up his lunch. He quickly jerks away in disgust.

“Ugh why do you smell like a whore house Scott?”

Nearby some other Starbucks patrons chuckle. He ignores them. He is still trying to get over the offensive sex smell. It riles him up something fierce, all the way to his core. Who is this person that rubbed her body all over his—his what? Whatever it was, it was is worse than the cumulative airplane body odour. He feels his wolf rising and has to calm it down forcefully be he flashes his eyes.

“Oh sorry dude. Kira was meant to arrive hours ago but got delayed. I got bored. Tinder happened.” Scott looks pained and answers sheepishly.

“Didn’t you shower? Oh my god.” Isaac pulls his suitcase into an alcove and pulls up a chair at the table Scott was sitting at.

“I did. I showered. The motel was gross, but I showered.”

Isaac sighs. Okay, okay. Stay calm. Don’t wolf out. Think of Allison, she wouldn’t want you to wolf out. Think about Chris, who lost everything and still held himself together.  
It’s just Scott being Scott. Somehow he though the sex addiction would have stopped by now, especially since Stiles got back. Guess he was wrong.

Speaking of which, he can just about pick up the pack scent, now with Stiles’ own unique scent is the mix, just under all that sex and sweat and cum. It’s probably caught scent on Scott’s clothes that didn’t have the misfortune of being covered in body fluids. He does his best to separate the unwanted scents and focus on Scott’s own _Eu de Alpha_.

Calm.

Pulling out his phone, he takes it out of airplane mode and waits for the text messages to appear. Nothing. Not even from dad?

He quickly shoots a message off to his dad letting him know that he’s arrived safely, with only minimal discomfort, which is a lie.

A prompt reply comes in from his father.

 **Dad**  
► I’m glad you’re safe, but next time use the hex.  
► Did you see the red head?

Of course his father would catch his lie, even via text message.

◄ Yes. Friendly.  
◄ Can confirm partner is WW

 **Dad**  
► Thought so.  
► Remember, expenses for this trip go on the blue card.  
► Black card for emergencies only.  
► Call in once a day.  
► Tell everyone I said hi.  
► There’s a few things I need you do. I’ve emailed you the list.

Any other parent, and you’d be tempted to roll your eyes, like any self-respecting petulant child would, but when Chris said to only use the black credit card in emergencies, and to call twice, it meant that anything different, and he would take it as a bat signal to mobilize a hunting party. Once, he accidentally paid for a movie ticket using the wrong card, and Chris interrupted the whole cinema in the middle of _Birdman_ to look for him. He doesn’t really know what it looked like to his date Lilou, seeing as his French was barely passable, but it wasn’t good and she blocked him on Tinder.

◄ Ok dad.

 **Dad**  
► Be safe.

He sends another message to Kira warning her about Scott’s smell. She won’t be able to smell it as much, he thinks… What exactly is a kitsune’s sense of smell like? He wasn’t too sure. Either way she deserved to be warned.

“I’m getting a coffee. A cinnamon coffee. And a cinnamon scroll. Cinnamon will save me from your brothel smell.”

Scott has the decency to look guilty.

A few sips and bites into his cinnamon saviour combo, and Scott’s phone pings with an update.

“App says Kira’s plane has landed.”

Isaac hums a vague reply and pulls out his phone. He opens Wickr, and sends Kira a message. Danny got everyone onto Wickr a while ago so they could send each other secure messages. Isaac introduced it to the Argent’s standard operating procedure too.

He telling Kira about the supernatural-friendly TSA officers. Who knows what that girl is packing, or how her lightning abilities would screw up with the body scanners. He’s sure Kira has it worked out if she travels all the time, but hey, friends share their tips with other friends. Pack? Whatever.

\--

When Kira arrives, she demands that Scott take a shower at a truck stop before the drive back. It’s not like she cares as much as she’s putting on, but it’s always fun to watch Scott squirm, so one must never miss the opportunity. Isaac wonders why he didn’t think of that.

While they wait, Kira tells him she’s joined the an improv drama group over the summer. Of course she did. Isaac hasn’t heard anyone use the word _Alas!_ more than Kira has in the last 5 minutes.

By the time Scott returns, hair damp and fresh smelling (well, fresher than before), it’s a bit later than they’d planned.

Scott’s stereo doesn’t have an audio input jack. His antenna is busted so they don’t get good signal. And he has only two CDs. There’s Kanye’s _Late Graduation_ which was a joke gift from the pack because he almost didn’t graduate, but it’s an awesome CD regardless of the joke—fact!. And the other is the soundtrack from _Waiting To Exhale_ , that came in the CD player when Scott got the car.

The car still smelled a bit like sex, and they mostly fixed that by gassing it with the cheap Batman cologne that was in the car. Stiles bought it on impulse a few days ago at the drug store, then gave it to Scott for the ‘renewal of best bro status now that I’m back’. The chemical smell, and the lingering bitter after taste, of Batman Eu De Toilette completely overpowers other smells and for that Isaac is grateful.

It’s at moments like this Isaac wonders why the hunters ever target werewolves like Scott. He may be an alpha, but his car is junk, and he’s just a big puppy. Isaac drives a shiny black sedan with tinted windows—a standard Argent vehicle.

When the more fanatical hunters go on and on about werewolves like they’re the Illuminati, here to destroy the world with their secret shadow organizations, Isaac doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry as they listen to Whitney Houston go _Shoop, Shoop, Shoop Shoo Be Doop_ for the third time.

\--

When they arrive at the Hale Mansion just after sun down, half the pack are faffing around in the Hale pool.

“Come to me my international friends!” Stiles yells as he tries them into the pool.

Isaac doesn’t budge, but Kira doesn’t have the luxury of were-strength, so she starts to falls in. She frantically throws her purse away to safety. Seconds later, she’s sputtering and squealing.

After taking his off his scarf, shirt and jeans, folding them neatly on the deckchair, and making sure to keep all the contents of his pockets together safely ensconced in the clothing stack, Isaac finally swan dives into the pool.

Stiles pulls him into a squishy embrace, leaving Kira to climb out of the pool so she can remove all the wet clinging layers of clothing. “Alas my beautiful clothing, ruined.” She dramatically peels at them. "Ewww," the girl shudders, and Isaac can't help but shudder with her sympathetically.

“I’ve missed you curly.” Stiles is pressing a smile into the side of his head. He can practically feel the face muscles indent his cheeks.

“I—we missed you too.” Isaac admits.

As the hug releases, Isaac takes the older Stiles’ appearance in. Strong defined arms, thick shoulders, square jaw painted with wet beard, and the rich piercing amber eyes. Stiles real grew up inexplicably well. How did he not realise it felt this good to be with his pack? He turns around just a bare feet walk up the side of the pull. He traces the hairy legs and thighs up to Derek’s face.

Derek offers him a small smile and a nod. “Hey.”

“GERONIMOOOO!” And with that, Scott cannonballs into the water.

“BANZAIIII!” Kira follows, now defrocked and wearing only black bra and panties.

“OH MY GOD SCOTT ARE YOU NAKED?” Malia screams from the other end of the pool that’s near to the outdoor grill where Peter and the sheriff are cooking. 

“I’M WEARING TRUNKS OKAY! They’re just beige.”

“Where did you get beige swim trucks?” Isaac asks, actually curious about the answer. Like who would even want beige swimwear?

“You look like a Ken doll.” Lydia says as she brings in a tray of filled champagne flutes. 

Kira laughs so hard that she cries, and has to hold on to Stiles, while Lydia impatiently waves a champagne flute at her.

\--

“Liam and Mason are at a movie thing.”

“They’re finally dating?”

“They’re not like that. Mason has a boyfriend. Casey or Corey something.” Scott informs Isaac as they get out of the pool to go get ready for dinner. “And Liam has this epic crush on a girl in school. We’re talking writing-poems-about-her epic, but he won’t do anything about it like actually ask her out.”

Isaac is surprised. He thought surely those two—

“So they are at movie thing. Not at the theatre. It’s some retrospective thing in a comic shop. Mason’s was gonna take C—whatever his name was, but he couldn’t make it so Liam went with instead.”

It reminds Isaac of Stiles and Scott—Scott, who is taking off his trunks, dripping wet and getting under the outdoor shower. Oh lord. It’s a good thing his alpha is under the spray of the water at the moment, or he would be smelling the full extent of Isaac’s… interest level. The alpha makes eye contact for a moment, then shifts his gaze down to Isaac’s wet underwear. Oh Jesus.

Isaac hastily retreats to his pile of clothes. He’ll just towel off and deal with a few hours of chlorine smell on his skin if it meant not having to watch naked Scott shower porn.  
Once he’s changed, he finds Stiles at the grill smiling and cooking steaks while chatting with Kira. Stiles opines about the decline in curly fries quality at Belle's Diner. Kira rants about the lack of roles for Asian stage actors in America. He just sits down nearby and just soaks in the sound of their voices.


	15. Ex-boyfriends and LASERS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the almost deleted scene that I didn't delete anyway, which means the fic grew by 1 chapter because I refuse to edit. 
> 
> Sorry that the pacing sucks in this chapter. I don't really want to re-write it, so it will stay as is.

Even on a good day, Stiles hates pixies. If he had his way, he would just ignite them with his magic and be done with it.

Apparently, he is not allowed to do right now. Because (A) Stiles’ magic is more aligned towards electricity, and (B) he supposedly needs to refrain from offending the nemeton more than he already has.

Ever since Stiles returned, the nemeton has been throwing all manner of crap at him. It’s been swarms of pixies, toads, and mosquitos everywhere, for the last few days. It’s like Egypt circa the biblical exodus. And it all started with a goat spy.

The goat in question was the first of what Deaton suspects is the nemeton being a jealous ex-boyfriend. You know, the kind of ex that stalks you on Facebook after the breakup, then sends you text message in the night asking you _who all the people you took photos with are, and did you cheat on him huh huh? Shut up bastard, WE AREN’T EVEN TOGETHER ANYMORE!_

Well that’s the nemeton right now. 

Because Stiles sacrificed himself to it way back when—technically only 2 years—the tree now thinks it has the right to know things about Stiles. Like where are you? Where did you go for the last year? Where did you get all these extra magic from that I didn’t give to you? TELL ME EVERYTHING!

And because Stiles won’t fucking explain himself to a fucking plant, it is cranky and jealous and stalked the hell out of him WITH A GOAT.

And because Stiles doesn’t abide by the whole glowing demon-eyes GoatPro™ surveillance system, he killed it dead with lightning. Maybe it was a bit cruel to the goat, but HAVE YOU SEEN GOAT EYES?? 

The point is, goat died, nemeton got angry, and now he and Derek are in the preserve running away from pixies! Well okay technically they were herding pixies until Peter can show up with a way to disable them without killing. Herding them by being bait.

**Fuck his life.**

“So I was thinking either the Grand Cherokee or the Renegade.” 

“NOT THE TIME STILES!” Derek growls.

“YES, the right time. SWERVE!” They narrowly avoid slamming into a bunch of flying suck-beasts. “I am _this close_ to frying them right now!! OH MY GOD MY ICE CREAM WE LEFT IT IN THE TRUNK! It’s probably melted.”

“Pay attention Stiles. We’re—“

“ _ **I**_ am fleeing away from stupid pixies instead of killing them dead, because the tree is being a creepy possessive ex. You are here of your own choice because you are the possessive _current_ boyfriend. I’m fine taking care of myself you know. I have for more than decade.” Stiles knew he was being a little shit, but he's irritable, so sue him. He’s running away from pixies. It’s bullshit! It’s not even Derek he’s pissed at.

“Renegade. It comes in bright blue.”

“What?”

“You asked which Jeep. Renegade comes—“

“I can’t even right now.”

“You asked—“

“I’ve been sprinting for millions of hours right now dude.” It’s probably only been 20 minutes. “I can’t remember what we were even talking about.” He really can’t. Jeep? “ **DUCK!** ” Stiles yells as a handful of pixies fly in from the above. “Okay fuck, this is getting ridiculous! Where the hell is Peter?”

Derek focuses his senses but gets nothing. A few deer, a bubbling stream in the north-east, but no backup anywhere nearby.

“How the hell did you guys get so rich anyway? I mean I was only joking at first about buying me a car, but that is some serious dosh in your bank account dude. I thought the Benefactor th— **ON THE LEFT!** ” Stiles careens into him as they avoid more pixies. Derek steadies him so they can keep running.

“We always had money, even after the Benefactor. Less, but a lot of that money was recouped anyw—“

“How do you recoup stolen bearer bonds?“ Stiles only knows the basics, but aren’t bearer bonds like cash?

“Bearer bonds are pretty rare these days, so even if they work like cash, they are easily identified. I mean some of those were Treasury bonds, and they don’t even make those any more. You know how hard it is to offload U.S. Treasury bonds without The Feds knowing? I’m not sure, but pretty hard." Derek explains like he's defending his right to be rich for no godly reason. "And there was also a lot of insurance money.” Oh yeah. Shit.

“I swear that was the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you say and it’s all about bearer bonds while we run from FUCKING PIXIES! I will kill that tree. I will strike it with so much lightning. YOU HEAR THAT YOU SHIT!” This probably isn't helping. All the girly magazines say you should just ignore your creepy ex-boyfriends because yelling at them just feeds their unhealthy obsession.

Peter bursts out of the trees from the side and it is to Stiles’ credit that he doesn’t flail or fall in shock. Derek on the other hand probably knew Peter was coming, the ass.  
“Nice night for a run?” Peter pretends to check his nails while they hotfoot it.

“Jesus Derek, you couldn’t have warned me? Hi, Peter, always a pleasure, except NOT always, and oh yes, very nice night for a— **can you just do the thing already?!** Because speaking of pretty asses, it’s a shame that I won’t continue to have a view of both your pert bottoms when I FACEPLANT FROM EXHAUSTION.”

“We gotta lure them out.” Derek points to a clearing up ahead. It’s small so they’ll need to time it perfectly. All around them pixie are converging onto their location.

“Flashbang in 3… 2…” Peter starts counting down. As he reaches 1, both Stiles and Derek fall to the ground and cover their eyes. A loud pop Stiles' eyes flash with light even under the lid. All around them, stunned pixies are screaming their little faces off, probably flying into trees, falling to the ground and generally being shocked. Good.

“Thank you Isaac Argent—god I will never be used to that—for wherever you got military grade flashbangs.”

“Walmart?” Peter asks no one.

All around them are immobilised pixies.

He takes a moment to survey the damage around them. Some flashbang shrapnel yards ahead. A few scratches on his arms. Derek looks a bit scratched up too even if he's recovering much quicker than Stiles can. “Why am I always bait?” Stiles grouses rhetorically as he gasps for air and wipes spit from his face with his sleeve.

“Not to state the obvious, but aren’t you the reason the pixies are acting up?” Peter says, absolutely stating the obvious like a lamewolf.

“Cut it out Peter.” Derek comes to his rescue, holding him up and picking the leaves off his sweaty body. Heh, well okay ladies, guess we’ll keep it.

“I didn’t say it was his fault, only that he’s the reason. It makes sense that he would be bait. Are you going to help me with these?” Peter picks up stunned pixies and put them in a warded sack.

“Yeaah.. no. I can barely move.” Stiles whines. “I’m getting sick of this shit. You’d think the tree would be less of a jerk. My magic is a lot more powerful now. Shouldn’t it be happy instead of trying to kill me?”

“Oh I don’t think it’s trying to kill you. Just punish you.” Lamewolf says.

“Well the next time it tries to _punish_ , I’m gonna go ballistic on it.”

“Oh I’m sure the nemeton will _love_ that, and absolutely _not_ retaliate in the slightest.” Peter singsongs derisively.

Stiles furrows his brow, and turns to Derek. “Carry me home? I think my legs are about to fall off. No actually, nix that last order of fries, I got this. See you both poolside.”

With that, Stiles focuses on the ward he laid at the Hale mansion pool, musters his spark, and teleports.

\--

**Sparks With EMR Affinity are awesome because**

₹ _Affinity for Electromagnetic Radiation type spells means mutherfuckin lightning._

₹ _Good to very good defence against EMR, and the cold._

₹ _Light speed transportation for me, other creatures with similar affinity, and some objects without damaging them. (Turn off all electronics)_

₹ _Magnetism Of Ferromagnetic Materials. (Magneto powers)_

₹ _One word: LASERS!_

₹ _Other Stuff. Woo Stuff!_

When Stiles wrote that down in his notebook, he was very (read: VERY) excited.

Theory is different in practice however. Even after years of trying, he has only gotten the hang of zapping things with lightning, and teleporting himself to places where he’s embedded his magic, like a ward.

No Magneto powers or lasers yet. Maybe, never. Most sparks don't manage to master their full affinity which sucks but, meh, teleportation is pretty good.

The ward at the pool seemed like a good spot to teleport too. He’s only slightly, mostly, entirely drenched.


	16. Deputy Sourwolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's POV

**6:15 AM**

A very soft alarm wakes Derek up and for a sleepy moment he doesn’t know where he is. The Stilinski guest room. His mate is still asleep, lying on his side, hogging the sheets.

The air smells strongest of Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles and cardboard boxes.

Stiles has been home for 9 whole days now.

On day 2, during the post-verification party, Stiles invited himself to move in with him at the mansion, after telling Derek that they were soulmates. They also had very drunk sex. Good sex, what he can remember of it anyway. That was a good day.

On day 4, John suggested that Stiles should stay, and Derek move in with them instead. That was a good day too. Sure he loves the mansion. It’s got nice amenities. But it doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a holiday house, too fancy and clean and very _Peter_.

On day 5, Isaac helped him pack. Not all his things but the ones he’s taking over. His favourite clothes, day-to-day things, and the queen size bed. It will go into Stiles’ room, _their_ room when it’s assembled, but they couldn’t find one of the brass screws and two bolts after the move so it’s leaning against the wall for now.

The still sleeping Stiles grumbles when Derek gets out of the bed. It’s a little cold on this side of the house, with afternoon sun facing windows, so he collects his mate in his arms, sheets and all, carries him to the other room and lays the man on the smaller bed. Stiles gripes a little, but doesn’t stir.

He eyes the boxes around the room, eyes pausing on one of momentarily longer than the others. He may have brought it with him, but he didn’t want to think about it yet.

_Not now._

Derek pulls on a sporty tank top, puts on track pants, grabs the small drawstring bag with his belongings, and heads out for his morning run.

\--

**8:15 AM**

Derek pushes through the swinging doors of the Beacon County Sheriff Station, and heads straight to the locker room to shower and change. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone until he gets there. 

Walking down Main Street in a tank top, sweaty from running, gets you a lot of leers even this early in the morning. Honestly, he’s proud of his appearance but he doesn’t know what to do with all the attention. That’s always been his problem.

That first day in the station locker room after the boys cat called and whistled, he just stood there shirtless, complete beet red. Thank goodness the novelty wore off quickly or he’d be changing in a cubicle.

Deputy training is going surprisingly fast.

Laney from the mayor’s office is exploiting every loophole to get him through the process swiftly. He doesn’t even know if it’s entirely legal, some of the things she’s doing. If he remembers correctly, Stiles had a college plan for getting a degree in police science, then planning to the join the academy, before the portal. Stiles has given up on that, but the fact remains that not one single person has asked him about joining and academy, or about college.

Technically he’s a private contractor for the city. Only 3 people on the force are actually on the station’s payroll—Sheriff Stilinski, Parrish, and Strauss. There used to be more, but the kanima happened. Now there’s one guy in the academy (Lang?) who will be officially commissioned once he graduates in a few weeks. Everyone else is either a private contractor like Derek, or volunteers.

As it turns out, you just need a strong recommendation, pass a few basic background checks, sign some waivers, and basically pinky-swear to complete the minimum contact hours at the shooting range. Do they even check?

He suspects some of it has to do with the Hale Family Foundation’s generous contributions to the county over the last years. An upgraded library here, a new MRI machine for the hospital there. When the sheriff recommended Derek for the deputy job, the mayor’s office jumped on the opportunity to approve it.

Derek would be pretty concerned for Beacon Hill’s wellbeing if not for the fact the loved this job already. What could be a better job than having official sanction to patrol the territory and keep it safe?

He’s to be partnered with Parrish of course. Supernatural cops.

\--

**11:30 AM**

A citrusy smell wafts in from the front room and his nose twitches as he looks up from his desk. Stiles is wearing one of Derek’s well loved henleys. _Smells like **us**_. His wolf preens.

His mate makes eye contact with a big smile. “I’m just gonna go say hi to Dad first.” Stiles says in a conversational tone that he knows Derek will hear on the other side of the bull pen.

Derek nods. The receptionist Amaryah assumes Stiles is talking to her and just waves him through. She’s his favourite because she made a Tupperware full of Turkish delights to welcome him as the newbie. He didn’t even share any with Parrish.

He listens to Stiles greet the sheriff, but stops short of eavesdropping the whole conversation and goes back to studying.

Whenever he has time, especially during his lunch break, he studies for an online degree in finance from Georgetown. It was Peter’s idea since Derek is on the board of directors for Hale Family Foundation—the non-profit organisation that Peter set up at first it was a tax dodge. This was before Lydia convinced them to turn it into an actual philanthropic foundation to serve the pack’s interest from a political angle. He is amazed at her sometimes.

Lydia got over her hatred for Peter, especially since his uncle provided a lot of help in her Stiles-finding research, and those two have been a terrifying combination of smarts and arrogance. Everyone was doomed.

Derek struggles with his old laptop, trying his best to click on web links with the trackpad that has lost all sensitivity. He should probably talk to Stiles or Scott about a new computer soon.

 _“He didn’t rape me Stiles, the gun-wielding sheriff. He just took advantage of my—“_ he overhears John say in the office. 

_“General slutty disposition?”_ Stiles asks in reply.

Oh god. He caught the middle of John and Stiles’ conversation about his uncle. He needs ear bleach.

The sheriff storms out a moment later, and a smirking Stiles emerges, looking satisfied as he saunters over.

Derek watches the man’s body move a little too keenly before regaining his wits. 

“Hi. Your dad had to go?”

“Oh he just up and left. Rude” Stiles tells him, seemingly a little smug.

For most of the conversation that follows, Derek just wistfully stares at his mates face.

So this is what happiness feels like.

After Stiles leaves, Derek overhears the sheriff making dinner plans with his uncle.

\--

**3:45 PM**

“Stiles is getting on good then?” Parrish asks him as he takes the report from Derek.

Derek nods, but then remembers that people prefer verbal cues. “Mmm yeah. We’re still unpacking.”

Parrish doesn’t seem bothered by his awkwardness. They’ve known each other for a while now and the hellhound is even starting to feel like part of the pack bond. Even more so now that Derek has joined the force. All the people in the Sheriff’s department are starting to feel faintly pack-adjacent, even Strauss, ugh.

“Well let him know I said hi. And er...” Parrish is sheepishly twitching, reddening around the ears, and lowers his voice. “Can you maybe ask him about the— you know—“ 

Oh. He can see where this is going.

“Your soulmate?” Derek asks him plainly.

Parrish nods. “No proble— I mean, Thanks! Fuck. I’ll just go now.”

He wonders is Stiles even knows who Parrish’s soulmate is. He hasn’t mentioned it to Derek. Jordan may not have been on Stiles’ radar whilst he was travelling.

But he’ll ask anyway.

\--

**5:35 PM**

“You’re late.” Peter tells him.

“5 minutes late. Lydia isn’t even here yet.” He can’t know for sure, but he doesn’t hear her heartbeat anywhere in the mansion, and her smell doesn’t seem recent.

“She called ahead to apologise, which is what you should have done. We have to take these meetings seriously Derek.”

“Whatever. Tell me when she gets here.” He growls at his uncle. Sane or not, the guy is still a major prick and Lydia is the only one who can handle him when he’s like this. Derek goes up to hide bedroom—the one he doesn’t use now that he’s moved into the Stilinski residence.

Minutes later, he hears a car pull up to the driveway before driving off again. Then, distinct heel clicks on the stone path. He stands and puts the book he’s reading onto the armchair, and heads back down.

“Hello Derek, Peter.” Lydia always greeted people in the order of pack rank if she remembered. “So, shall I take the minutes? Excellent. Peter?”

“Fine.” Peter barked, annoyed by the reminder that he is lower down on the totem pole, even lower now that Stiles is back, and Isaac has affirmed the pack bond. He might go even lower again when Jackson comes back to visit next week.

_Scott, Stiles, Derek, Lydia, John, Melissa, Kira, Isaac, Peter, Malia, Cora, Liam._

_And the pack-adjacent Jackson, Danny, Jordan, Ethan, Mason, and Chris who just about crossed the threshold that only Scott and Isaac can feel the bond at the moment._

“I call the monthly meeting of the board of directors of The Hale Family Foundation to session.” Peter intones. “First, absentees. Cora Hale is not present as she is overseas. No more absentees. The previous minutes of meeting have had no objections or clarifications.

Okay, the three things we will discuss today are; (1) University Of California Beacon campus proposal and progress update; (2) Stiles and Isaacs’ return to the _company_ and their impact on the foundation as a whole; and (3) Proposed locations for offices.

Shall we? I’d like to keep this meeting under 1 hour because I have a date.” Peter finishes.

No wonder he was so testy about Derek being late. Peter has a date, probably with John.

Lydia takes Peter’s declaration as a reason to jump straight into discussion topics.

Peter and Lydia have been busy working on a deal with University of California to open a Beacon campus, with a very generous donation from the Hale Family Foundation to help sweeten the process.

Derek only told Stiles half of the reasons the family wealth was not eroded after The Benefactor incident. What they didn’t know was that Laura had begun the process of turning a lot of the bearer bonds in the vault to a diversified portfolio of registered bonds, stocks, investments, off-shore accounts and property. All totalled, the Hales were worth some $230 million dollars, and neither Peter nor Derek had found out about it until they started digging to see if they could recover what was stolen.

Moving all that money around without a good reason will draw all kinds of attention so running the Hale Family Foundation provides cover to tap into the wealth discreetly under the guise of a growing non-profit. And if all the pack members happened to get positions in Beacon County’s public institutions, well, they were fine with that. Everything is legal, just sneaky. But as both Peter and Lydia have pointed out, the richer you are, the sneakier you have to me. See. Doomed.

Peter, Derek, and Cora are the trustees, and also equal inheritors of the $230 million since Malia was not in the family will. Peter didn’t try to contest that surprisingly, but Derek thinks it might be because he feels guilty about Laura. He should be. Derek might forgive—not yet but it’s possible—however he will never forget.

Officially Peter is the chairman, and Lydia is the General Manager of the Hale Family Foundation. In reality they both manage the foundation’s affairs in multiple ways, with Peter representing his share of the millions, and Lydia managing a portion of Derek and Cora’s share. 

Derek contributes to the meeting only minimally. This is mostly Peter and Lydia’s domain, and he trusts Lydia to have the pack’s interest at heart.

\--

**7:05 PM**

Derek turns on the TV and settles in to watch-but-not-really-watch the baseball. He doesn’t really care for the teams playing. It’s what he used to do with his father when he was younger. Now he had a father again, kinda, and a family home, sorta, so he was bringing back the tradition, maybe. 

John and Peter are in the kitchen preparing dinner and Malia is at the table cramming for her GED. She didn’t get a passing grade to graduate high school and didn’t want to retake senior year when none of the pack would be there except Liam, so she dropped out and is learning at her own pace. Considering the long trips out to the territory, this could take years, but hey, it’s not like she needs money or knows what to do with it.

When he hears the keys jiggling, he perks up. Stiles opens the door, coming in with a few shopping bags and smelling strongly like Scott and Isaac. He can barely put down his things before Malia is scenting him.

It’s a bit strange watching his cousin scenting his mate, especially since the two dated briefly. But that was a long time ago, more than a decade for Stiles, so he’ll allow it... for now.

They settle into a comfortable back-and-forth, with Peter chiming into the conversation, and Stiles desperately preventing Malia from licking his face. It’s so very familial... for a were family. Humans probably frown upon licking family members.

“Who’s playing?” Stiles asked as he walks over to him eventually.

“Angels vs. Toronto.”

Derek moves a little just to give the man a small place to sit just by his side. It’s a clever strategy to get maximum cuddle contact during baseball.

Stiles takes the bait, and they talk about everything, work, pack, life, Isaac and Scott having each other someday. He hopes his alpha and his beta really do work it out. He doesn’t know what he would have done without Stiles in his life, and he only found out they were soulmates 9 days ago. His heart is racing and his instinct is to pull his mate closer.

“Oh oh oh! I got you something.” Stiles hands him a shopping bag. A new Macbook Pro, the one Scott has been raving about for months. “Or actually, You bought yourself something with your own money.”

Derek is amazed. His wonderful mate has provided for him exactly what he needs. Coincidence? Maybe. But Stiles has always had a sense for knowing what Derek needed before he did. He wants to rub himself all over the laptop and Stiles. _Mine. Laptop. Such a good mate._

“ _Our_ money.” He tells Stiles. _Our life together_. Stiles has as much right to his bloody inheritance as he does.

\--

**10:10 PM**

They’re setting up the brass frame to the queen size bed with replacement screws and bolts.

“So Jordan wants to know who his Soulmate is huh? Jeez it’s like I’m the magic mirror and everyone wants to ask the same thing. Well the truth is gonna suck. You ready for this Der?” Stiles sighs, but Derek can guess. _Laura._

“It’s Laura.” Stiles solemnly confirms his thoughts. _Well shit._

What happens if you soulmate dies?

“Can I ask you something?” When Stiles makes a small hum in affirmative, he continues. “Paige. How do you know? That she wasn’t my soulmate?”

“Hmm? I noticed the pattern as I travelled. I kept notes on each world I was in. Remember, I showed you?” 

All Derek remembers is a thick leather bound notebook with messy handwriting, arrows, underlines, and circled text everywhere. Nothing he would qualify as ‘notes’.

“Wait hang on a second.” Stiles goes to his desk and takes his notebook. “So yes. There was a building pattern. Then in...” Stiles’ pauses as he turns the pages until he presumably finds what he’s looking for. “World-7... this one, everyone was human. Like with magic, but no werewolves or genetic shifters. This world was an oddity of the lot because all the others had werewolves or similar. The other thing about this world is that people were born with little skin marks, like blemish, that matched up to their soulmate’s. Also they would feel a jolt or a sensation when they first touched their soulmates on the mark. It’s hard to explain but it’s some kind of magic obviously. Anyway, I found a 23-year-old me, and he had already found his soulmate—You. And then...”

Stiles is flipping the pages again.

“In World-10, all werewolves could sense their soulmates at puberty. You were 14 and just going through puberty, and already picked up on the fact that 9-year-old me was your soulmate. I confused the shit out of Derek-10 when he met me. He thought he had a second soulmate. It happens sometimes. Like Scott.” Stiles laughs. “Can you imagine. You find out your soulmate is 5 years younger, then you discover another soulmate who is almost double your age and get all confused and horny. His parents, yours, were not amused.” Stiles shakes with mirth. “Awkward, let me tell you. Yikes. Anyway, in both those worlds, you had no idea who Paige even was because soulmates are not guesswork and it never occurs to you to be interested in someone who just didn’t fit. Not saying you have to even _be_ with your soulmate. People still divorced or fell in love with people who weren’t their soulmates. Complicated business. But you, Derek. Always so fixated on finding your soulmate in these worlds. Paige wasn’t even on your radar.”

Good to know. He already figured as much. The tug his wolf feels for Stiles is vastly different from anything he’s ever felt for Paige or anyone. Maybe Paige died because she wasn’t his soulmate. He knows by now that it’s always his fault.

Derek sometimes thinks he doesn’t deserve a soulmate, especially not one so perfect. But he can’t be a martyr anymore. In a way his wolf has always known that Stiles was _his_. But there’s knowing and then there’s _knowing_. It may have been easy to lie to himself back then, but his wolf is too gone on Stiles now. It won’t be anchored if he rejected his feelings.  
He must be a good mate for Stiles.

\--

**11:10 PM**

Stiles has gone to brush his teeth.

It’s been too emotional a day to be frisky. Derek feels like he’s living in a dream state, and is too hazy to be an enthusiastic partner in bed, so they just cuddled for a moment.

He and Stiles have only had sex that one time, the second night, after he got drunk off wolfsbane punch. The alcohol was a fantastic social lubricant, and they were in a celebratory mood too. Stiles had confirmed what his wolf had been telling him for years. They’d fallen into the guest bed and made a huge mess of it. In the morning, they barely had time to kiss before they had to go downstairs to save the kitchen utensils from the hungover pack. 

They never talked about sex since, but Derek needed a bit of space to reel. Life was changing so fast and he just needed to be able to process small bits of it at a time.

Firstly, he had a mate. Something he had rejected for a long time and almost lost completely.

Secondly, he had just moved in with his mate. It was all going to take a while to get used to.

Thirdly, he had a new job. One he loved and his mate’s father happened to be boss of.

And lastly, his pack was on the verge of a quantum leap with the return of Stiles. A few of his pack members’ soulmated relationships are on the cusp of being realised. Isaac is back, and as an Argent hunter who is also a werewolf. Jackson has been talking to Lydia and seems like he might be interested in reconnecting. Danny might take the bite, something they are certain will no longer be rejected because of scientific breakthroughs that Stiles and Lydia came up with. And still a hundred more things to learn from Stiles’ notes. Clever pack politics. The return of the Hale name after almost being completely decimated.

It’s a lot.

He feels dizzy and stands up to get his bearing when he notices it on the wall.


	17. If Found, Please Return To Derek Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this chapter happens in the same day as the last one, but from...
> 
> Stiles' POV.

**10:00 AM**

Stiles wakes up in his own bed, and gets out of bed to swipe the alarm on his phone charging near the power socket.

He peers out the window trying to remember the night before. Wasn’t he sleeping in the guest bed with Derek? He peers around the boxes of Derek’s things lining the edge of his bedroom.

Instead of moving out to live with his boyfriend in the beautiful mansion with a pool, Derek is moving into the Stilinski house.

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter if you’re a full grown almost-30-year-old man. Your childhood home, your father snoring in the next room, the photos of your mother teaching you to ride a bike, nothing beats it. Not even the perfect mansion with a pool. It has nothing to do with the fact that the Hale mansion’s Internet connection sucks balls. Okay maybe a little.

Stiles spots a ratty box amongst Derek’s things. If this was a kids book called “Pick the odd one out”, this box would be it. It looks old and worn, like it’s been neglected and found many times, like dust has been wiped off it, over and over. The packing tape on it is brown and crusty. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but he is a naturally curious fox.

As he pulls of the desiccated tape, he reads the small writing on the top. Neatly written directly on the box itself, in small black text—

**IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO** ~~LAURA HALE~~ DEREK HALE  
BEACON HILLS CA - SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT LOST  & FOUND  
IMPORTANT—PLEASE DO NOT DISCARD 

As he opens it, he immediately notices the smell of ash. Inside, there are scorched picture frames, a burnt document folder, a faded yellow Wolverine water bottle, a slightly burnt Charizard foil Pokémon card, a small gold plated harmonica, and more things underneath that seem fragile.

His vision blurs with tears.

_Oh Derek._

He flicks through the picture frames and picks one that looks the sturdiest. It still has metal mounting strings on the back. In the photo there’s a handsome man standing next to a young boy sitting on a large tree stump. Both of them have familiar black hair and eyebrows and are smiling at the camera. The man has a moustache and stubble, and is wearing a striped polo tee and jeans. The boy has a black button-up shirt and grey cargo shorts.

Stiles takes the frame to the wall with all the photos of his parents and him, and takes one of them down and hangs the one from the box.

_“I know the Hale place is great but... Derek should move in here with us instead. We can carpool.” His father said tentatively as Stiles poked at dinner. It seemed like an innocuous request, but the way his father said it... Stiles could read between the lines—_

_Don’t leave me again._

_You’re all I have._

_Derek can be part of this family._

Stiles looks at the picture one last time and steels his emotions. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and puts on a Henley he borrowed from Derek, and one of his dad’s jeans.”  
He leaves a note on the dining table in case anyone comes by while he’s gone, and steps out into the late morning light.

_Just running errands. Meeting peeps. Be back for dinner._

\--

**11:50 AM**

“Sooo— You and Peter huh?”

His dad groans, “Alcohol makes fools of us all. I was tricked..”

“Dad. Serious talk now. Did he actually trick you?”

“He didn’t rape me Stiles, the gun-wielding sheriff. He just took advantage of my—“

“General slutty disposition?” That earned him a slap on the back of his head. His dad even leaned over his desk to do it. “Also, you carry a gun to bed?”

“I WAS DRUNK! My only son returned from god knows where. I drank in revelry for on that glorious day my prodigal son returned to me from the dead practically, like a zombie only much more terrifying! I was overcome with feeling.”

“And then fell on a werewolf’s penis.” For that he gets a pen chucked at his face. Rude. “Couldn’t you just buy a sports car like any normal man going through a mid-life crisis?”

The sheriff rubs his face and lets out a huge sigh. “I know ok. It wasn’t the best decision.”

“I think it’s, well ok, not _great_ per se, but I dunno. Derek and even Scott think he’s sane, which is a low bar yes, but he’s anchored now especially with Malia around. And I can’t judge. Been there, done that, rode that pony.”

“Son. I love you, but just stop. We’re having a lovely lunch. I do not need to know about your travel sex experiences. I’m happy for you. Proud even. _That’s my boy_. We’ve all been there. But no, this is not going to be part of our father-son bonding time.”

“You mean sexy swapping stories about the Hale men?” Okay so he knows he’s mean a little-shit. He has a lot of lost time to make up with his dad, and it includes familial ribbing.

The sheriff just walks right out of his own office. So rude.

He walks through the bull pen, nodding at Jordan, and heads for Derek’s desk at the back. The werewolf nose twitches and he looks up from staring at the notebook screen, smiling.

“Hi. Your dad had to go?” Derek asks.

Stiles snorts at that. “Oh he just up and left. Rude”

“You probably deserved it.” Derek grins. It’s a big wide toothy smile and Stiles heart jumps. He cannot take this, seriously, somebody help him because this beautiful man should never stop smiling. Stiles nods.

“Probably. So what’re you working on?”

“Oh, college stuff.”

“During work hours?”

“It’s my lunch break.”

“You’re a mega millionaire and you work in the sheriff’s office.” Stiles points out the ridiculousness of it, even if he not so secretly loves that Derek is working here.

“I like patrolling. This way I get a badge doing it.”

“The Hale Foundation not enough for you?”

Derek shakes his head. “That’s Peter’s thing. I just co-sign the checks.”

“You need a degree in finance to co-sign checks?”

“No, but it make it look more official in the org chart. And I’d like to know more about money now that I have—“

“Mega millions? Okay I get it.” Stiles doesn’t get it but c’est Derek. “So how come you aren’t in the police academy?”

“I’m a private contractor technically.” Derek says, pointing to his credentials.

Stiles didn’t know that. “But don’t you need a state license? And I guess the physical fitness stuff, which you’ll ace of course.”

Derek nods. “I got that. Handgun license, drug tests, some training on the job.”

“Wow. That’s actually pretty horrifying how unregulated it is.”

Derek shrugs. “Small town. After the kanima, they outsourced a lot of it.”

Stiles doesn’t really have any _real_ objections. The sheriff’s office is like his second home growing up. He gets a warm fuzzy feeling seeing his boyfriend in a uniform, feeling a lot better knowing that his father and Derek can look out for each other.

Life is great.

“Well I’ll leave you to it. I’m gonna wander around town, check out the new stuff. Can you give me your credit card. We need some cohabiting stuff.”

Derek fishes out his wallet. “I’ll get a supplementary card made for you soon.” He hands Stiles the card and their hands touch longer than they need to.

“ _Thank you Daddy._ ” Stiles says suggestively and pretends to stick the card into his pecs.

He prides himself on the predatory look on Derek’s face as he leaves.

\--

**12:35 PM**

“You don’t want the plain Macbook. Trust me.” Scott says as he pushes Stiles away from the gold laptop on display.

“But it’s so fancy and gold.” Stiles make grabby hands. It’s funny how even at 29 and 20 respectively, he and Scott are still like 12 year olds.

“It has like, **no** ports. You’ll hate it.” Scott informs him.

“It’s not for me, it’s for Derek. He doesn’t need more ports to confuse him.” 

Danny is gonna get Stiles a custom build laptop whenever he gets around to it.

“Yes, but you’ll end up using this one sometimes, and you’ll complain if it has no ports.” Scott tells him while pseudo-surreptitiously running his palm along Stiles’ back.

Stiles pauses for a second. He knows what Scott is doing, but doesn’t fight it. Pack scenting is an important part of werewolves’ tactile nature.

“You’re right. So how about the Air?” He handles the Macbook Air on display.

Scott shakes his head. “No. It’s towards the end of its product lifecycle. And no Retina display. Trust me. Werewolf eyes. Derek will be happier with the Pro. It’s not like we care about how lightweight it is either.”

Stiles lean-hugs his bro. “Thanks man. This is why I bring you computer shopping.”

“And yet you won’t tell me who my soulmate is. Worst bro ever.” Scott says in a mock offended voice that Stiles can tell is actually maybe a little upset. Such a puppy.

“Dude you have so many. Like a selfish amount of soulmates. Who even needs three?”

“Three? So Allison? Kira? Who else? Do I know her? Wait is that a wince. Not a _her_ then? _Him_? Oh my god my soulmate isn’t-“ Scott whispers like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. “Is it you?”

“NO FOR FUCKS SAKE, it isn’t me.”

“C’monnnn,” Scott whines. “Give me a clue. Is he younger or older than me? Oh my god it’s not Deaton is it?”

“Deaton? Seriously? You have sexy thoughts about Deaton?”

“Sex addiction is a real serious thing okay!” Scott says, like that makes it okay. No it doesn’t.

Stiles gags. He didn’t need to know these things. And anyway… “I would have assumed you’d go for Chris before Deaton.”

“Eww gross. Dude, he’s Allison’s dad. I’m not getting with my dead girlfriend’s dad.”

Oh yeah. Guess that would be weird. 

“Give me a clue man. This is my last chance at love bro.” Scott does his puppy eyes, and Stiles just cannot deal with that.

“You should learn French,” he offers tentatively.

“My soulmate is in France? Or Canada? Wow, ok wow. A French guy?”

Stiles forgets that as much as he has grown, his buddy is still just a 20 year old baby. Well, might as well spoon-feed him then.

“Hey you should get Isaac to give you French lessons.”

“Yes! Oh my god! Genius! Maybe it’s someone he knows in France.”

Stiles sniggers. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

 **Stiles Stilinksi** — Bringing failwolfs together for over 10 years™.

\--

**1:15 PM**

After Scott heads back to work, Stiles wanders down the café district to meet Isaac and Kira. He never really knows what to say to the curly haired boy, but he did come all the way down from France, so he should at least try.

And Kira is just awesome fun to be around, he doesn’t even mind when she talks about her theatre group for hours. It’s a strange thing for her to suddenly be interested in, but a lot can happen in a year.

“Kabuki is just not my thing. Like I know it should be, or whatever, but I couldn’t get into it. It’s just so flowery. I love improv stuff.” Kira munches down on her third donut. “Oh my god, I need to stop eating these, but they’re _so good_.”

 **Donut Be Afraid** is maybe the best new shop to open up in Beacon Hills in the year plus that Stiles has been gone.

Isaac is looking equal parts pained and envious of Kira. He spent a good few minutes outside telling them how much French pastries were better than anything in America, so he didn’t get a donut on principle. Now he looks like he sugar addict suffering withdrawals.

Stiles pushes the last of his key lime pie donut at the boy. “Don’t make that face. Just have it.”

Isaac frowns at it before picking it up, examining it like it’s a blood diamond, equal parts beautiful and horrible, then takes a small bite. You can practically hear the angelss singing.

“It’s not complicated dude. Sugar is awesome. Just eat the sugar.” Stiles finishes the last of his almond milk flat white. What? He’s 29 okay. He gets to be pretentiously refined sometimes.

There’s a moment of silence as both his friends enjoy their morsels of fluffy goodness before Kira clears her throat.

“Stiles.” She says like he’s in trouble. “You should tell him.”

He looks at her questioningly, and she jerks her chin to Isaac a few time, eyes wide like _You know what I mean._

“Tell him, oh my god.” She repeats.

“I didn’t even tell Scott.”

“Scott is an idiot and will take ages to figure it out,” Kira sagely states.

When he makes no effort to say anything, she decides to do it herself. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Stiles says Scott is your soulmate.”

_Oh jeez._

“What?” Isaac sounds distressed, looking between Kira and Stiles.

Stiles sighs. “I didn’t want to tell you because it’s not my job to match-make everybody okay, even though it seems like that’s all I’ve been doing this past week and a half. I don’t even—I’m not the almanac from Back To The Future. Don’t look at me like I have all the answers.”

Kira pokes him. “Stop being lame. This is the kind of stuff people want to know.” Then she looks at Isaac sharply. “If he tells you about mine, I expect you to let me know. It’s only fair.”

He is about to protest when Isaac gets up and walks out of the café.

Stiles goes to follow, but Kira stops him before gets up from his chair and just shakes her head.

“Let him go. And can I just say how weird it is that Isaac is an Argent now. Like is he Allison’s widower, or her foster brother? And like Scott with another Argent… yikes.”

Stiles reaches over and steals the last of her pineapple donut.

\--

**4:25 PM**

After he sends Kira off in a taxi, he wanders to his provider to buy a new phone and get his SIM card reconnected. They don’t give him as much data as he’d like, but they are the only one that gets reliable signal in the middle of the preserve. The new phone is water proof which might come in handy.

Lydia picks ups almost immediately when he calls her to test his line.

“I see your phone is working.” She bypasses the customary greetings and launches straight into it.

“Why hello to you too Lyds, queen of my life. Hey, we should get waterproof phones for everyone. And I’m thinking like a tough phone case.”

Lydia sigh down the line. “I don’t want one. They’re ugly.”

“For everyone else then.” Only Lydia would be so concerned with aesthetic that she’d risk being stranded bleeding in a ditch somewhere if her cell broke. “So hey, I told Kira about the Scott & Isaac soulmates thing, and Kira told Isaac, so now _that’s_ happening.”

“Isaac went for it?”

“Isaac got up and left. But he knows now. If it blows up if our faces, you can blame Kira. Anyway, I thought I’d give you a call to see if my phone works.”

“It does. So spa day tomorrow? God knows I’ll need it after the meetings I’ve had.”

“Not going well?”

“The opposite. UC is so excited about the prospect of Hale Family Foundation support, they’re now proposing half a dozen new mini campuses all over the state. I’m pretending to care just until they sign-off on UC Beacon, which I’m _this close_ to getting them to do. Do they think we just have $48 million lying around to build another 6? That’s almost our entire 10-year budget. Ugh! Peter has already agreed to a $2.5 million forestry research wing. What more do they want?”

“Forestry research?”

“They want Beacon to be an extension of UC Davis’ Center For Forestry or whatever. Peter agreed to an increased contribution out of his own share.”

“You don’t seem to agree?”

“It means potentially more college students wandering around the preserve. But you know, the UC Davis program will really put Beacon on the map so there’s that at least.”

“Maybe I’ll enrol in Forest Science.”

“Really?” Lydia actually sounds hopeful. They’ve talked about Stiles taking a degree, then Master, then applying for a research or teaching position in UC Beacon. It’s part of the plan to embed the Hale Pack into every major public institution in town.

“Yeah, why not. It might be nice if I’m going to be the nemeton’s bitch anyway.”

\--

 **The _Hale_ Pack**.

There were plenty of good reasons like honouring the Hale family who founded the territory, or the connection with the Hale Family Foundation, or the treaties with other packs which are carried forward with the name, or the fact that there were 4 Hale members in the pack including Malia now officially.

But in the end, it rested on two things: Peter was willing to pay for everyone’s college tuition in return for naming rights, and Scott didn’t want his family name associated with werewolves for his mother’s safety anyway. As far as treaties were concern, the Hale Pack was led by True Alpha Hale, and anyone who came digging without proper information wouldn’t know to look for a Scott McCall.

When they were in highschool, this was have all seemed weird and oddly complicated. As adults, it was necessary intrigue.

\--

Lydia has to end the call so she can make it to some fancy director’s meeting with Peter and Derek about HFF stuff so Stiles goes to find a place to plug in the new laptop.

\--

**5:45 PM**

He settles into a table at Starbacks ostensibly for coffee but mostly for the free wifi, because it’s not like they have funfetti donuts here. Such fail.

He unboxes the laptop and goes about setting it up with profiles, signing Derek up for an Apple ID, iCloud backups, tweaks the privacy settings, sets up Skype, gets Chrome then summarily un-docks Safari, and downloads Spotify.

Once Stiles is satisfied, he starts browsing things to buy on Amazon, because when he said he was going shopping, he meant buy a laptop then order stuff online.

He buys a bagel so the staff will stop looking at him like he’s monopolising a whole table during the after-work rush crowd without getting anything.

Before he leaves, he snaps a few pictures on PhotoBooth and makes one of them the new wallpaper.

\--

**7:15**

It’s dark by the time Stiles gets home. He notices both his dad’s cruiser in the driveway and Derek’s Camaro parked on the side of the road next to the mailbox.

When he opens the door, he is immediately accosted by Malia who scents him furiously. Derek just watches fondly from the sofa but doesn’t intervene. Stiles leans sideways so he can put down the shopping bags while Malia continues to awkwardly pat him all over like a cat.

“Hey girlfriend. How was… I’m going to say patrolling?”

It’s Peter who answers as he emerges from the kitchen. “It was good. Lots of deer. Nothing suspicious. Hello Stiles. You have frosting on your face.”

Malia just licks it off.

“Ew. No. Derek do something.”

“I’ll allow it.” Derek states dryly.

“Come now daughter mine, you’re making Derek’s mate smell like yours. He might make an angry face. Yes, just like that one.”

“He’s covered in Scott and Isaac. I’m just evening it out.” Malia reasons.

“Eww. Again, no. I thought we were over this.” There was a time when he was a teenage boy where he would have very much encouraged Malia to rub all over him like this. For now, he pulls away from her, and she stomps off into the house, doing who knows what. Probably going the bathroom, but maybe she’s going to scent his clothes or something.

“Other wolves have been scenting you all day. She feels left out.” Derek says as he beckons Stiles to sit next to him.

“Who’s playing?” He enquires about the TV, as he walks over.

“Angels vs. Toronto.” Derek scoots over to give him just enough space so they have to sit touching sides.

“Riveting. You’re not gonna rub all over me until you’re happy like a pig in mud?” He says as he pulls Derek in for a sly kiss.

“Actually Derek has a mate bond with you so he will smell your scent strongest even under the pack’s.” Peter chimes in as he sets the table. “And he’s been rubbing his scent over the entire house. It’s been driving Malia up the wall, pun intended. She doesn’t understand why this house smells just like our apartment, but without her scent.”

Derek nods, and kisses him again. “Our house. It already smelled like you and your father. But now it smells like me…” He pauses. “And Peter.”

“Oh lord.” Peter better not be moving in. He makes a mental note to talk to his father about how that is _not_ going to happen. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you guys here?” He directs to the older wolf, just curious, really. Peter chooses to ignore him that time.

Derek puts his arm around Stiles and he rests his head on the werewolf’s shoulder. “It’s your dad and Peter’s date. I was already here, so Peter brought Malia, now you’re here.” Date night? He guesses he should get used to this happening more often then.

“So how was the rest of your day?” Derek asks, seeming not to understand his unspoken crisis.

“Wonderful. Lydia had to cancel on lunch, but we’ll do a girls night, or spa day, whatever she wants. Kira had to head back to New Jersey before Jackson gets in, so I’ve been spending as much time with her while I can. Isaac was there. She told him about the Scott thing and now Scarfwolf is somewhere having a personal crisis, or banging Scott, one of those two? And my phone number works again, YOU HEAR THAT GUYS??” He yells that’s last bit for the others in the house. His father wouldn’t have heard the earlier bit, but Peter will tell him no doubt.

\--

**8:55 PM**

He spends commercials breaks regaling Derek about donuts and Scott when he suddenly remembers. “Oh oh oh! I got you something.” He says as he gets up to retrieve the shopping bags he left by the door when Malia was molesting him. “Or actually, you bought yourself something with your own money.”

“ _Our_ money.” Derek states casually, like shared finances is not significant in any way. Stiles doesn’t argue. Years of being a vagabond, sliding across the parallels, has made him completely shameless about mooching. It’s not like he could have held down a job.

Plus, he suspected Derek instinctually liked being a provider. The man still clung to more than a few stereotypes even if he probably didn’t think of them that way. It was more like _Me man-wolf thinks you smell nice. Me get you food and warm furs then sex you in den. You like?_

_His dad doesn’t seem to think it was so clear cut. “Son, I’m glad you’re home, but if anything you’ve lost time. You need to consider what you’re gonna do with you life. You went from living on an allowance, to living on the kindness of strangers, and now you’re living with a sugar daddy werewolf.” The sheriff had nagged at him some nights ago. Jesus dad, it’s only been 9 days. Calm down._

Anyway, he was a very thoughtful sugar baby. Grinning brightly, he pulls out the Macbook Pro box and hands it to Derek.

“Congratulations on becoming a deputy in training slash private contractor for the Sheriff’s Department, slash night school student, slash best boyfriend in the world.” He hands Derek the box then falls beside him on the sofa. ”I’ve done some of the setup, but I’ll help with the rest too.” He adds magnanimously.

“Thank you.” Derek says politely.

“What? No opinions on the technology?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I don’t know about these things so I’ll just leave them up to you.”

Wow. Derek just _Yes Dear_ ’d him.

Malia returns from the bathroom, probably, and she, Peter and his father sit down at the table for dinner. Venison goulash and mashed potatoes. Yum.

He and Derek have dinner in front of the TV, watching the game and snuggling.

They should just pick out the rings already, gosh.

\--

**11:15 PM**

As he places the toothbrush back into the holder next to the others, he catches his reflection in the mirror and takes in his face. He can’t put a finger on the feeling. But it’s not just that he’s back, it’s like he’s _made it_ back. The time of his travels is still etched on his features, but some of the deeper proverbial scars are fading.

When he walks into his childhood bedroom, now with a bigger bed, boxes everywhere half unpacked, he sees Derek staring at the picture on the wall. The one he put up this morning.

“That’s you and your dad?” He asks the werewolf, knowing the answer. He’s met Derek’s father, Robert, tall and built, kind but a little bit arrogant, who loved all types of sports especially baseball and hockey. Or at least a version of him. This man in the photo was Derek’s real father. The one who sat with his son through countless baseball nights. The one Derek is convinced he killed by association.

Derek doesn’t turn around but nods.

“We’ll put up more of your pictures. I want to remember them too, now that I’ve met them.”

Stiles wraps his arms around his boyfriend, hands firm on the muscular chest, just over the heart, and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. He can smell salty tears on the man’s chin and he feels the beats.

“Stiles— I love you so much.” Derek whimpers, lips quivering with rare emotion as they look at the picture together.

He wants desperately to lighten the mood, say _I know_ Han Solo style. It’s tempting, but he’s not a kid anymore. There is sincerity and significance in this moment. Derek hasn’t let himself love for such a long time.

“I love you too Derek”

_In every universe._


	18. A Door Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in a different universe, trouble brews...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is the sequel tie-in**

Stiles stood in his friend’s arms, tears collecting in his eyes. “If this doesn’t work—“ he whispers.

“It will work.” Laura says for the umpteenth time while holding him closer, almost believing it herself.

“If it doesn’t. Tell Derek I’m so sorry. And that I love him. And not to… not to blame himself,” Stiles finishes. There’s nothing to stop the tears from falling now.

“It will work.”

“Please Laur. Promise me.” Stiles demands shakily. When she nods into his shoulder, scenting him for what could be the last time, he starts collecting the magic he needs from his spark and distributing it around himself. He pulls away from her, taking a few quick steps backwards and begins incanting in his head.

_Weda lela wizedenyi._

The tattoos along Stiles’ body start to flicker, like a fluorescent lamp blinking on, and a moment later there is a flash of light and the young man is gone leaving no trace except a small bare patch of dirt in the grass where he was standing. Laura stumbles alone next to the nemeton, clutching her chest as she feels the pack bond disappear, and hears her brother’s mournful howl from the other side of the preserve.

(To Be Continued...)

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel has started!!!
> 
> **THE SLIDER 2: _[Our Universes Collide In Slow Motion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6608134)_**


End file.
